ELJames
FiftyShades
Freed
FirstpublishedbyTheWriter’sCoffeeShop,2012
Copyright©ELJames,2012
TherightofELJamestobeidentifiedastheauthorofthisworkhasbeen
assertedbyhimundertheCopyrightAmendment(MoralRights)Act2000
Thisworkiscopyright.ApartfromanyuseaspermittedundertheCopyright
Act1968,nopartmaybereproduced,copied,scanned,storedinaretrieval
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priorwrittenpermissionofthepublisher.
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsare
eitheraproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Any
resemblancetoactualpeoplelivingordead,eventsorlocalesisentirely
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TheWriter’sCoffeeShop
(Australia)POBox2013HornsbyWestfieldNSW1635
(USA)POBox2116WaxahachieTX75168
Craig,W.J.,ed.“KingLear.”TheCompleteWorksofWilliamShakespeare.
Scene1,Act1.NewYork:RandomHouseValuePublishing:1997.
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AbouttheAuthor
ELJamesisaTVexecutive,wife,andmotheroftwo,basedinWestLondon.
Sinceearlychildhood,shedreamtofwritingstoriesthatreaderswouldfallin
lovewith,butputthosedreamsonholdtofocusonherfamilyandhercareer.
Shefinallypluckedupthecouragetoputpentopaperwithherfirstnovel,
FiftyShadesofGrey.ELJamesiscurrentlyworkingonanewromantic
thrillerwithasupernaturaltwist.
ELJAMES
Prologue
Mommy!Mommy!Mommyisasleeponthefloor.
Shehasbeenasleepforalongtime.Ibrushherhairbecauseshelikesthat.
Shedoesn’twakeup.Ishakeher.Mommy!Mytummyhurts.Itishungry.He
isn’there.Iamthirsty.InthekitchenIpullachairtothesinkandIhavea
drink.Thewatersplashesovermybluesweater.Mommyisstillasleep.
Mommywakeup!Sheliesstill.Sheiscold.IfetchmyblankieandIcover
MommyandIliedownonthestickygreenrugbesideher.Mommyisstill
asleep.Ihavetwotoycars.TheyracebythefloorwhereMommyissleeping.
IthinkMommyissick.Isearch
forsomethingtoeat.IntheiceboxIfindpeas.Theyarecold.Ieatthem
slowly.Theymakemytummyhurt.IsleepbesideMommy.Thepeasare
gone.Intheiceboxissomething.Itsmellsfunny.Ilickitandmytongueis
stucktoit.Ieatitslowly.Ittastesnasty.Idrinksomewater.Iplaywithmy
carsandIsleepbesideMommy.Mommyissocoldandshewon’twakeup.
Thedoorcrashesopen.IcoverMommywithmyblankie.He’shere.Fuck.
Whatthefuckhappenedhere?Ohthecrazyfuckedupbitch.Shit.Fuck.Get
outofmyway,youlittleshit.HekicksmeandIhitmyheadonthefloor.My
headhurts.Hecallssomebodyandhegoes.Helocksthedoor.Ilaydown
besideMommy.Myheadhurts.Theladypolicemanishere.No.No.No.
Don’ttouchme.Don’ttouchme.Don’ttouchme.IstaybyMommy.No.Stay
awayfromme.Thelady
policemanhasmyblankieandshegrabsme.Iscream.Mommy!Mommy!I
wantmyMommy.The
1|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
wordsaregone.Ican’tsaythewords.Mommycan’t
hearme.Ihavenowords.
“Christian!Christian!”Hervoiceisurgent,pullinghimfromthedepthsofhis
nightmare,thedepthsofhisdespair.“I’mhere.I’mhere.”
Hewakesandshe’sleaningoverhim,graspinghisshoulders,shakinghim,
herfaceetchedwithanguish,blueeyeswideandbrimmingwithtears.
“Ana,”Hisvoiceisabreathlesswhisper,thetasteoffeartarnishinghis
mouth.“You’rehere.”
“OfcourseI’mhere.”
“Ihadadream…”
“Iknow.I’mhere,I’mhere.”
“Ana.”Hebreatheshernameandit’satalismanagainsttheblackchoking
panicthatcoursesthroughhisbody.
“Hush,I’mhere.”Shecurlsaroundhim,herlimbscocooninghim,her
warmthleechingintohisbody,forcingbacktheshadows,forcingbackthe
fear.Sheissunshine,sheislight…sheishis.
“Pleaselet’snotfight.”Hisvoiceishoarseashewrapshisarmsaroundher.
“Okay.”
“Thevows.Noobeying.Icandothat.We’llfindaway.”Thewordsrushout
ofhismouthinatumbleofemotionandconfusionandanxiety.
“Yes.Wewill.Wewillalwaysfindaway,”shewhispersandherlipsareon
his,silencinghim,bringinghimbacktothenow.
2|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterOne
Istareupthroughgapsintheseagrassparasolatthebluestofskies,summer
blue,Mediterraneanbluewithacontentedsigh.Christianisbesideme,
stretchedoutonasunlounger.Myhusband—myhot,beautifulhusband,
shirtless,andincut-offjeans—isreadingabookpredictingthecollapseofthe
Westernbankingsystem.Byallaccountsit’sapage-turner;Ihaven’tseen
himsitthisstill,ever.HelooksmorelikeastudentthanthehotshotCEOof
onethetopprivatelyownedcompaniesintheUnitedStates.
Onthefinallegofourhoneymoon,welazeintheafternoonsunonthebeach
oftheaptlynamedBeachPlazaMonteCarloinMonaco,althoughwe’renot
actuallystayinginthishotel.IopenmyeyesandgazeoutattheFairLady
anchoredintheharbor.Wearestaying,ofcourse,onboardaluxurymotor
yacht.Builtin1928,shefloatsmajesticallyonthewater,queenoftheallthe
yachtsintheharbor.Shelookslikeachild’swind-uptoy.Christianlovesher
—Isuspecthe’stemptedtobuyher.Honestly,boysandtheirtoys.
Sittingback,IlistentotheChristianGreymixonmynewiPodanddozein
thelateafternoonsun,idlyrememberinghisproposal;ohhisdreamyproposal
intheboathouse…Icanalmostsmellthescentofthemeadowflowers…
~o0o~
“Canwemarrytomorrow?”Christianmurmurssoftlyinmyear.Iam
sprawledonhischestintheflowerybowerintheboathouse,satedfromour
passionatelovemaking.
“Hmm.”
“Isthatayes?”Ihearhishopefulsurprise.
“Hmm.”
“Ano?”
“Hmm.”
3|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Isensehisgrin.“MissSteele,areyouincoherent?”
Igrin.“Hmm.”
Helaughsandhugsmetightly,kissingthetopofmyhead.“Vegas,tomorrow,
itisthen.”
SleepilyIraisemyhead.“Idon’tthinkmyparentswouldbeveryhappywith
that.”
Hethrumshisfingertipsupanddownmynakedback,caressingmegently.
“Whatdoyouwant,Anastasia?Vegas?Abigweddingwithallthe
trimmings?Tellme.”
“Notbig…Justfriendsandfamily.”Igazeupathimmovedbythequiet
entreatyinhisglowinggrayeyes.Whatdoeshewant?
“Okay.”Henods.“Where?”
Ishrug.
“Couldwedoithere?”heaskstentatively.
“Yourfolks’place?Wouldtheymind?”
Hesnorts.“Mymotherwouldbeinseventhheaven.”
“Okay,here.I’msuremymomanddadwouldpreferthat.”
Hestrokesmyhair.CouldIbeanyhappier?
“So,we’veestablishedwhere,nowthewhen.”
“Surelyyoushouldaskyourmother.”
“Hmm.”Christian’ssmiledips.“Shecanhaveamonth,that’sit.Iwantyou
toomuchtowaitanylonger.”
“Christian,youhaveme.You’vehadmeforawhile.Butokay—amonthit
is.”Ikisshischest,asoftchastekiss,andsmileupathim.
~o0o~
“You’llburn.”Christianwhispersinmyear,startlingmefrommydoze.
“Onlyforyou.”Igivehimmysweetestsmile.Thelateafternoonsunhas
shifted,andIamunderitsfullglare.Hesmirksandinoneswiftmovepulls
mysunloungerintotheshadeoftheparasol.
“OutoftheMediterraneansun,Mrs.Grey.”
“Thankyouforyouraltruism,Mr.Grey.”
“Mypleasure,Mrs.Grey,andI’mnotbeingaltruisticatall.Ifyouburn,I
won’tbeabletotouchyou.”Heraisesaneyebrow,hiseyes4|Page
ELJAMES
shiningwithmirth,andmyheartexpands.“ButIsuspectyouknowthatand
you’relaughingatme.”
“WouldI?”Igasp,feigninginnocence.
“Yesyouwouldandyoudo.Often.It’soneofthemanythingsIloveabout
you.”Heleansdownandkissesme,playfullybitingmylowerlip.
“Iwashopingyou’drubmedownwithmoresuntanlotion.”Ipoutagainsthis
lips.
“Mrs.Grey,it’sadirtyjob…butthat’sanofferIcan’trefuse.Situp,”he
orders,hisvoicehusky.IdoasI’mtold,andwithslowmeticulousstrokes
fromstrongandsupplefingers,hecoatsmeinsunlotion.
“Youreallyareverylovely.I’maluckyman,”hemurmursashisfingersskim
overmybreasts,spreadingthelotion.
“Yesyouare,Mr.Grey.”Igazecoylyupathimthroughmylashes.
“Modestybecomesyou,Mrs.Grey.Turnover.Iwanttodoyourback.”
Smiling,Irollover,andheundoesthebackstrapofmyhideouslyexpensive
bikini.
“HowwouldyoufeelifIwenttopless,liketheotherwomenonthebeach?”I
ask.
“Displeased,”hesayswithouthesitation.“I’mnotveryhappyaboutyou
wearingsolittlerightnow.”Heleansdownandwhispersinmyear.“Don’t
pushyourluck.”
“Isthatachallenge,Mr.Grey?”
“No.It’sastatementoffact,Mrs.Grey.”
Isighandshakemyhead.OhChristian…mypossessive,jealous,control
freakChristian.
Whenhe’sfinished,heslapsmybehind.
“You’lldo,wench.”
Hisever-present,ever-activeBlackBerrybuzzes.Ifrownandhesmirks.
“Myeyesonly,Mrs.Grey.”Heraiseshiseyebrowinplayfulwarning,slaps
mybacksideoncemore,andsitsbackdownonhisloungertotakethecall.
5|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Myinnergoddesspurrs.Maybetonightwecoulddosomekindoffloorshow
forhiseyesonly.Shesmirksknowingly,archingabrow.Igrinatthethought
anddriftbackintomyafternoonsiesta.
“Mam’selle?UnPerrierpourmoi,unCoca-Colalightpourmafemme,s’il
vousplait.Etquelquechoseamanger…laissez-moivoirlacarte.”
Hmm…ChristianspeakingfluentFrenchwakesme.Myeyelashesflutterin
theglareofthesun,andIfindChristianwatchingmewhilealiveriedyoung
womanwalksaway,hertrayheldaloft,herhighblondponytailswinging
provocatively.
“Thirsty?”heasks.
“Yes,”Imuttersleepily.
“Icouldwatchyouallday.Tired?”
Iflush.“Ididn’tgetmuchsleeplastnight.”
“Meneither.”Hegrins,putsdownhisBlackBerryandstands.Hisshortsfalla
littleandhang…inthatwaysohisswimtrunksarevisiblebeneath.Christian
takeshisshortsoff,steppingoutofhisflipflops.Ilosemytrainofthought.
“Comeforaswimwithme.”HeholdsouthishandwhileIlookupathim,
dazed.“Swim?”hesaysagain,cockinghisheadtooneside,anamused
expressiononhisface.WhenIdon’trespond,heshakeshisheadslowly.
“Ithinkyouneedawake-upcall.”Suddenlyhepounces,reachingdownand
liftingmeintohisarmswhileIshriek,morefromsurprisethanalarm.
“Christian!Putmedown!”Isqueal.
Hechuckles.“Onlyinthesea,baby.”
Severalsunbathersonthebeachwatchwiththatbemuseddisinterestso
typical,Inowrealize,oftheFrenchasChristiancarriesmetothesea,
laughing,andwadesin.
Iclaspmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Youwouldn’t.”Isaybreathlessly,tryingto
stiflemygiggling.
Hegrinsdownatme.“OhAna,baby,haveyoulearnednothingintheshort
timewe’veknowneachother?”Heleansdownandkissesme,andIseizemy
opportunity,runningmyfingersthroughhishair,6|Page
ELJAMES
graspingtwohandfulsandkissinghimback,invadinghismouthwithmy
tongue.Heinhalessharplyandleansback,eyessmokybutwary.
“Iknowyourgame,”hewhispersandheslowlysinksintothecool,clear
water,takingmewithhimashislipsfindmineoncemore.Thechillofthe
MediterraneanissoonforgottenasIwrapmyselfaroundmyhusband.
“Ithoughtyouwantedtoswim,”Imurmuragainsthismouth.
“You’reverydistracting.”Christiangrazeshisteethalongmylowerlip.“But
I’mnotsureIwantthegoodpeopleofMonteCarlotoseemywifeinthe
throesofpassion.”
Irunmyteethalonghisjaw,hisstubbleticklyagainstmytongue,notcaringa
dimeforthegoodpeopleofMonteCarlo.
“Ana,”hegroans.Hewrapshiswristaroundmyponytailandtugsgently,
tiltingmyheadback,exposingmythroat.Hetrailskissesfrommyeardown
myneck.
“ShallItakeyouinthesea?”hebreathes.
“Yes,”Iwhisper.
Christianpullsawayandgazesdownatme,hiseyeswarm,wantingand
amused.“Mrs.Grey,you’reinsatiable,andsobrazen.Whatsortofmonster
haveIcreated?”
“Amonsterfitforyou.Wouldyouhavemeanyotherway?”
“I’lltakeyouanywayIcangetyou,youknowthat.Butnotrightnow.Not
withanaudience.”Hejerkshisheadtowardtheshore.What?
Sureenough,severalsunbathersonthebeachhaveabandonedtheir
indifferenceandnowregarduswithinterest.Suddenly,Christiangrabsme
aroundmywaistandlaunchesmeintotheair,lettingmefallintothewater
andsinkbeneaththewavestothesoftsandbelow.Isurface,coughing,
splutteringandgiggling.
“Christian!”Iscold,glaringathim.Ithoughtweweregoingtomakelovein
thesea…andchalkupyetanotherfirst.Hebiteshislowerliptostiflehis
amusement.Isplashhim,andhesplashesmerightback.
“Wehaveallnight,”hesays,grinninglikeafool.“Laters,baby.”
Hedivesbeneaththeseaandsurfacesthreefeetawayfromme,thenina
fluid,gracefulcrawl,swimsawayfromtheshore,awayfromme.7|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Gah!Playful,tantalizingFifty!IshieldmyeyesfromthesunasIwatchhim
go.He’ssuchatease…whatcanIdotogethimback?
WhileIswimbacktotheshore,Icontemplatemyoptions.Atthesun
loungersourdrinkshavearrivedandItakeaquicksipofCoke.Christianisa
faintspeckinthedistance.
Hmm…Iliedownonmyfrontand,fumblingwiththestraps,takemybikini
topoffandtossitcasuallyontoChristian’ssunlounger.There…seehow
brazenIcanbe,Mr.Grey.Putthisinyourpipeandsmokeit.Ishutmyeyes
andletthesunwarmmyskin…warmmybones,andIdriftawayunderits
heat,mythoughtsturningtomyweddingday.
~o0o~
“Youmaykissthebride,”ReverendWalshgushes.
Ibeamupatmyhusband.
“Finally,you’remine,”hewhispers,andhepullsmeintohisarmsandkisses
mechastelyonthelips.
Iammarried.IamMrs.ChristianGrey.Iamgiddywithjoy.
“Youlookbeautiful,Ana,”hemurmursandsmiles,hiseyesglowingwith
love…andsomethingdarker,somethinghot.“Don’tletanyonetakethat
dressoffbutme,understand?”Hissmileheatsahundreddegreesashis
fingertipstraildownmycheek,ignitingmyblood.
Holycrap…Howdoeshedothis,evenherewithallthesepeoplestaringat
us?
Inodmutely.Jeez,Ihopenoonecanhearus.LuckilyReverendWalshhas
discreetlysteppedback.Iglanceatthethronggatheredintheirwedding
finery…Mymom,Ray,Bob,andtheGreysareallapplauding—evenKate,
mymaidofhonor,wholooksstunninginpalepinkasshestandsbeside
Christian’sbestman,hisbrother,Elliot.WhoknewthatevenElliotcould
scrubupsowell?Allwearhuge,beamingsmiles—exceptGrace,whoweeps
graciouslyintoadaintywhitehandkerchief.
“Readytoparty,Mrs.Grey?”Christianmurmurs,givingmehisshysmile.I
melt.Helooksdivineinasimpleblacktuxwithsilverwaistcoatandtie.He’s
so…dashing.
8|Page
ELJAMES
“ReadyasI’lleverbe.”Igrin,atotallygoofysmileonmyface.Laterthe
weddingpartyisinfullswing…CarrickandGracehavegonetotown.They
havethemarqueesetupagainandbeautifullydecoratedinpalepink,silver
andivorywithitssidesopen,facingthebay.Wehavebeenblessedwithfine
weather,andthelateafternoonsunshinesoverthewater.There’sadance
flooratoneendofthemarquee,alavishbuffetattheother.
Rayandmymotheraredancingandlaughingwitheachother.Ifeel
bittersweetwatchingthemtogether.IhopeChristianandIlastlonger.Idon’t
knowwhatI’ddoifheleftme.Marryinhaste,repentatleisure.Thesaying
hauntsme.
Kateisbesideme,lookingsobeautifulinherlongsilkgown.Sheglancesat
meandfrowns.“Hey,thisissupposedtobethehappiestdayofyourlife,”she
scolds.
“Itis,”Iwhisper.
“OhAna,what’swrong?AreyouwatchingyourmomandRay?”
Inodsadly.
“They’rehappy.”
“Happierapart.”
“You’rehavingdoubts?”Kateasks,alarmed.
“No,notatall.It’sjust…Ilovehimsomuch.”Ifreeze,unableorunwilling
toarticulatemyfears.
“Ana,it’sobviousheadoresyou.Iknowyouhadanunconventionalstartto
yourrelationship,butIcanseehowhappyyou’vebothbeenoverthepast
month.”Shegraspsmyhands,squeezingthem.“Besides,it’stoolatenow,”
sheadds,grinningatme.
Igiggle.TrustKatetopointouttheobvious.ShepullsmeintoaKatherine
KavanaghSpecialHug.“Ana,you’llbefine.Andifhedoeshurtonehairon
yourhead,he’llhavemetoanswerto.”Releasingme,shegrinsatwhoeveris
behindme.
“Hi,baby.”Christianputshisarmsaroundme,surprisingme,andkissesmy
temple.“Kate,”heacknowledges.He’sstillcooltowardherevenaftersix
weeks.
“Helloagain,Christian.I’mofftofindyourbestman,whohappenstobemy
bestman,too.”Withasmiletousboth,sheheadsovertoElliot,whois
drinkingwithherbrotherEthanandourfriendJosé.
“Timetogo,”Christianmurmurs.
9|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Already?ThisisthefirstpartyI’vebeentowhereIdon’tmindbeingthe
centerofattention.”Iturninhisarmstofacehim.
“Youdeservetobe.Youlookstunning,Anastasia.”
“Sodoyou.”
Hesmilesdownatme,hisexpressionheating.“Thisbeautifuldressbecomes
you.”
“Thisoldthing?”Iflushshylyandpullatthefinelacetrimofthesimple,
fittedweddingdressdesignedformebyKate’smother.Ilovethatthelaceis
justofftheshoulder;demure,yetalluring,Ihope.Hebendsandkissesme.
“Let’sgo.Idon’twanttoshareyouwithallthesepeopleanymore.”
“Canweleaveourownwedding?”
“Baby,it’sourparty,andwecandowhateverwewant.We’vecutthecake.
Andrightnow,I’dliketowhiskyouawayandhaveyoualltomyself.”
Igiggle.“Youhavemeforalifetime,Mr.Grey.”
“I’mverygladtohearthat,Mrs.Grey.”
“Oh,thereyoutwoare!Suchlovebirds.”
Igroaninwardly…Grace’smotherhasfoundus.
“Christian,darling—onemoredancewithyourgrandma?”
Christian’slipspurseslightly.
“Ofcourse,Grandmother.”
“Andyou,beautifulAnastasia,goandmakeanoldmanhappy—
dancewithTheo.”
“Theo?”
“GrandpaTrevelyan.’
“Oh,IthinkyoucancallmeGrandma.Now,youtwoseriouslyneedtoget
workingonmygreat-grandkids.Iwon’tlasttoomuchlonger.”Shegivesus
bothasimperingsmile.Christianblinksatherinhorror.
“Come,Grandmother,”hesays,hurriedlytakingherhandandleadingherto
thedancefloor.Heglancesbackatme,practicallypouting,androllshiseyes.
“Laters,baby.”
AsIwalktowardGrandpaTrevelyan,Joséaccostsme.
“Iwon’taskyouforanotherdance.IthinkImonopolizedtoomuchofyour
timeonthedancefloorasitis…I’mhappytoseeyouhappy,butI’m
serious,Ana.I’llbehere…Ifyouneedme.”
10|Page
ELJAMES
“José,thankyou.You’reagoodfriend.”
“Imeanit.”Hisdarkeyesburnbrightwithsincerity.
“Iknowyoudo.Thankyou,José.Nowifyou’llpleaseexcuseme—
Ihaveadatewithanoldman.”
Heblinksatmeinincomprehension.
“Christian’sgrandfather,”Iclarify.
Hegrins.“Goodluckwiththat,Annie.Goodluckwitheverything.”
“Thanks,José.”
AftermydancewithChristian’sever-charminggrandfather,Istandbythe
Frenchdoors,watchingthesunsinkslowlyoverSeattle,castingbrightorange
andaquamarineshadowsacrossthebay.
“Let’sgo,”Christianurges.
“Ihavetochange.”Igrasphishand,meaningtopullhimthroughtheFrench
windowsandupstairswithme.Hefrowns,notunderstanding,andtugsgently
onmyhand,haltingme.
“Ithoughtyouwantedtobetheonetotakethisdressoff,”Iexplain.Hiseyes
lightup.
“Correct.”Hegivesmealasciviousgrin.“ButI’mnotundressingyouhere.
Wewouldn’tleaveuntil…Idon’tknow…”Hewaveshislong-fingered
hand,leavinghissentenceunfinishedbuthismeaningquiteclear.
Iflushandletgoofhishand.
“Anddon’ttakeyourhairdowneither,”hemurmursdarkly.
“But—”
“Nobuts,Anastasia.Youlookbeautiful.AndIwanttobetheonetoundress
you.”
Oh.Ifrown.
“Packyourgoing-awayclothes,”heorders.“You’llneedthem.Taylorhas
yourmainsuitcase.”
“Okay.”Whathashegotplanned?Hehasn’ttoldmewherewe’regoing.In
fact,Idon’tthinkanyoneknowswherewe’regoing.NeitherMianorKate
hasmanagedtoinveigletheinformationoutofhim.Iturntowheremy
motherandKatearehoveringnearby.
“I’mnotchanging.”
“What?”mymothersays.
“Christiandoesn’twantmeto.”Ishrugasifthisshouldexplaineverything.
Herbrowfurrowsbriefly.
11|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Youdidn’tpromisetoobey,”sheremindsmetactfully.Katetriestodisguise
hersnortasacough.Inarrowmyeyesather.Neithershenormymotherhave
anyideaofthefightChristianandIhadaboutthat.Idon’twanttorehashthat
argument.Jeez,canmyFiftyShadessulk…andhavenightmares.The
memoryissobering.
“Iknow,Mom,buthelikesthisdress,andIwanttopleasehim.”
Herexpressionsoftens.Katerollshereyesandtactfullymovesawaytoleave
mealonewithmymother.
“Youlooksolovely,darling.”Carlagentlytugsataloosetendrilofmyhair
andstrokesmychin.“Iamsoproudofyou,honey.You’regoingtomake
Christianaveryhappyman.”Shepullsmeintoahug.OhMom!“Ican’t
believehowgrown-upyoulookrightnow.Beginninganewlife…Just
rememberthatmenarefromadifferentplanet,andyou’llbefine.”
Igiggle.Christianisfromadifferentuniverse,ifonlysheknew.
“Thanks,Mom.”
Rayjoinsus,smilingsweetlyatbothMomandme.
“Youmadeabeautifulbabygirl,Carla,”hesays,hiseyesglowingwithpride.
Helookssodapperinhisblacktuxandpalepinkwaistcoat.Tearsprickthe
backofmyeyes.Ohno…sofarIhavemanagednottocry.
“Andyouwatchedherandhelpedhergrowup,Ray,”Carla’svoiceiswistful.
“AndIlovedeverysingleminute.Youmakeonehellofabride,Annie,”Ray
tucksthesameloosestrandofhairbehindmyear.
“Oh,Dad…”Istifleasob,andhehugsmeinhisbrief,awkwardway.
“You’llmakeonehellofawife,too,”hewhispers,hisvoicehoarse.Whenhe
releasesme,Christianisbackatmyside.
Rayshakeshishandwarmly.“Lookaftermygirl,Christian.”
“Ifullyintendto,Ray.Carla.”Henodsatmystepdadandkissesmymom.
Therestoftheweddingguestshaveformedalonghumanarchforustotravel
through,leadingroundtothefrontofthehouse.
“Ready?”Christiansays.
“Yes.”
12|Page
ELJAMES
Takingmyhand,heleadsmeundertheiroutstretchedarmswhileourguests
shoutgoodluckandcongratulationsandshoweruswithrice.Waitingwith
smilesandhugsattheendofthearchareGraceandCarrick.Inturntheyhug
andkissusboth.Graceisemotionalagainaswebidthemhastygoodbyes.
TayloriswaitingtowhiskusawayintheAudiSUV.AsChristianholdsthe
cardooropenforme,Iturnandtossmybouquetofwhiteandpinkrosesinto
thecrowdofyoungwomenthathasgathered.Miatriumphantlyholdsitaloft,
grinningfromeartoear.AsIslideintotheSUVlaughingatMia’saudacious
catch,Christianbendstogatherthehemofmydress.OnceI’msafelyin,he
bidsthewaitingcrowdafarewell.
Taylorholdsthecardooropenforhim.“Congratulations,sir.”
“Thankyou,Taylor,”Christianrepliesasheseatshimselfbesideme.
AsTaylorpullsaway,thevehicleisshoweredwithricebyourwedding
guests.Christiangraspsmyhandandkissesmyknuckles.
“Sofarsogood,Mrs.Grey?”
“Sofarsowonderful,Mr.Grey.Wherearewegoing?”
“Sea-Tac,”hesayssimplyandsmilesasphinxlikesmile.Hmm…whatishe
planning?
TaylordoesnotheadforthedepartureterminalasIexpectbutthrougha
securitygateanddirectlyontothetarmac.What?AndthenIseeher—
Christian’sjet…GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.inlargeblueletteringacross
herfuselage.
“Don’ttellmeyou’remisusingcompanypropertyagain!”
“Oh,Ihopeso,Anastasia.”Christiangrins.
Taylorhaltsatthefootofthestepsleadinguptotheplaneandleapsoutofthe
AuditoopenChristian’sdoor.Theyhaveabriefdiscussion,thenChristian
opensmydoor—andratherthansteppingbacktogivemeroomtoclimbout,
heleansinandliftsme.
Whoa!
“Whatareyoudoing?”Isqueak.
“Carryingyouoverthethreshold,”hesays.
“Oh.”Isn’tthatsupposedtobeathome?
Hecarriesmeeffortlesslyupthesteps,andTaylorfollowswithmysmall
suitcase.Heleavesitonthethresholdoftheplanebefore13|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
returningtotheAudi.Insidethecabin,IrecognizeStephan,Christian’spilot,
inhisuniform.
“Welcomeaboard,sir,Mrs.Grey.”Hegrinsatusboth.Christianputsme
downandshakesStephan’shand.BesideStephanstandsadark-hairedwoman
inherwhat?Earlythirties?She’salsoinuniform.
“Congratulationstoyouboth,”Stephancontinues.
“Thankyou,Stephan.Anastasia,youknowStephan.He’sourcaptaintoday,
andthisisFirstOfficerBeighley.”
SheblushesasChristianintroducesherandblinksrapidly.Iwanttorollmy
eyes.Anotherfemalecompletelycaptivatedbymytoohandsome-for-his-own-
goodhusband.
“Delightedtomeetyou,”gushesBeighley.Ismilekindlyather.Afterall—he
ismine.
“Allpreparationscomplete?”ChristianasksthembothasIglancearoundthe
cabin.Theinteriorisallpalemaplewoodandpalecreamleather.It’slovely.
Anotheryoungwomaninuniformstandsattheotherendofthecabin—avery
prettybrunette.Whothehellisthat?
“Wehavetheallclear.WeatherisgoodfromheretoBoston.”
Boston?
“Turbulence?”
“NotbeforeBoston.There’saweatherfrontoverShannonthatmightgiveus
aroughride.”
Shannon?Ireland?
“Isee.Well,Ihopetosleepthroughitall,”saysChristianmatter-offactly.
Sleep?
“We’llgetunderway,sir,”Stephansays.“We’llleaveyouinthecapablecare
ofNatalia,yourflightattendant.”Christianglancesinherdirectionand
frowns,butturnstoStephanwithasmile.
“Excellent,”hesays.Takingmyhand,heleadsmetooneofthesumptuous
leatherseats.Theremustbeabouttwelveofthemintotal.
“Sit,”hesaysasheremoveshisjacketandundoeshisfinesliverbrocade
vest.Wesitintwosingleseatsfacingeachotherwithasmall,highlypolished
tablebetweenus.
“Welcomeaboard,sir,ma’am,andcongratulations.”Nataliaisatourside,
offeringusbothaglassofpinkchampagne.14|Page
ELJAMES
“Thankyou,”Christiansays,andshesmilespolitelyatusandretreatstothe
galley.
“Here’stoahappymarriedlife,Anastasia.”Christianraiseshisglasstomine,
andwechink.Thechampagneisdelicious.
“Bollinger?”Iask.
“Thesame.”
“ThefirsttimeIdrankthisitwasoutofteacups.”Igrinathim.
“Irememberthatdaywell.Yourgraduation.”
“Wherearewegoing?”I’munabletocontainmycuriosityanylonger.
“Shannon,”Christiansays,hiseyesalightwithexcitement.Helookslikea
smallboy.
“InIreland?”We’regoingtoIreland!
“Torefuel,”headds,teasing.
“Then?”Iprompt.
Hisgrinbroadensandheshakeshishead.
“Christian!”
“London,”hesays,gazingintentlyatme,tryingtogaugemyreaction.
Igasp.Holycow.Ithoughtmaybewe’dbegoingtoNewYorkorAspenor
maybetheCaribbean.Icanhardlybelieveit.Mylifetimeambitionhasbeen
tovisitEngland.I’mlitupfromwithin,incandescentwithhappiness.
“ThenParis,”headds.
What?
“ThentheSouthofFrance.”
Whoa!
“Iknowyou’vealwaysdreamedofgoingtoEurope,”hesayssoftly.
“Iwanttomakeyourdreamscometrue,Anastasia.”
“Youaremydreamscometrue,Christian.”
“Backatyou,Mrs.Grey,”hewhispers.
Ohmy…
“Buckleup.”
IgrinanddoasI’mtold.
Astheplanetaxisoutontotherunway,wesipourchampagne,grinning
inanelyateachother.Ican’tbelieveit.Attwenty-twoyears15|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
old,I’mfinallyleavingtheUnitedStatesandgoingtoEurope—toLondonof
allplaces
Oncewe’reairborne,Nataliaservesusyetmorechampagneandpreparesour
weddingfeast.Andwhatafeastitis—smokedsalmon,followedbyroast
partridgewithagreenbeansaladanddauphinoisepotatoes,allcookedand
servedbytheever-efficientNatalia.
“Dessert,Mr.Grey?”sheasks.
Heshakeshisheadandrunshisfingeracrosshisbottomlipashelooks
questioninglyatme,hisexpressiondarkandunreadable.
“No,thankyou,”Imurmur,unabletobreakeyecontactwithhim.Hislips
curlupinasmall,secretsmileandNataliaretreats.
“Good,”hemurmurs.“I’dratherplannedonhavingyoufordessert.”
Oh…here?
“Come,”hesays,risingfromthetableandofferingmehishand.Heleadsme
tothebackofthecabin.
“There’sabathroomhere.”Hepointstoasmalldoorthenleadsmeondown
ashortcorridorandthroughadoorattheend.Jeez…abedroom.Thecabin
iscreamandmaplewoodandthesmalldoublebediscoveredingoldand
taupecushions.Itlooksverycomfortable.
Christianturnsandpullsmeintohisarms,gazingdownatme.
“Ithoughtwe’dspendourweddingnightatthirty-five-thousandfeet.It’s
somethingI’veneverdonebefore.”
Holycow…anotherfirst.Igapeathim,myheartpounding…themilehigh
club.I’veheardaboutthis.
“ButfirstIhavetogetyououtofthisfabulousdress.”Hiseyesglowwith
loveandsomethingdarker,somethingIlove…somethingthatcallstomy
innergoddess.Hetakesmybreathaway.
“Turnaround.”Hisvoiceislow,authoritative,andsexyashell.Howcanhe
infusesomuchpromiseintothosetwowords?WillinglyIcomplyandhis
handsmovetomyhair.Gentlyhepullsouteachhairpinoneatatime,his
expertfingersmakingshortworkofthetask.Myhairfallsinswathesover
myshoulders,onelockatatime,coveringmybackanddowntomybreasts.I
trytostandstillandnotsquirm,butI’machingforhistouch.Afterourlong,
tiringbutexcitingday,Iwanthim—allofhim.
16|Page
ELJAMES
“Youhavesuchbeautifulhair,Ana.”HismouthisclosetomyearandIfeel
hisbreath,thoughhislipsdon’ttouchme.Whenmyhairisfreeofpins,he
runshisfingersthroughit,gentlymassagingmyscalp…ohmy…Iclosemy
eyesandsavorthesensation.Hisfingerstravelondown,andhetugs,tilting
myheadbacktoexposemythroat.
“You’remine,”hebreathesandhisteethtugmyearlobe.Igroan.
“Hushnow,”headmonishes.Hesweepsmyhairovermyshoulderandtrailsa
fingeracrossthetopofmybackfromshouldertoshoulderfollowingthelace
edgeofmydress.Ishiverinanticipation.Heplantsatenderkissonmyback
abovethefirstbuttononmydress.
“Sobeautiful,”hesaysashedeftlyundoesthefirstbutton.“Youhavemade
methehappiestmanalivetoday.”Withinfiniteslowness,heunfastenseach
one,allthewaydownmyback.“Iloveyousomuch.”Trailingkissesfrom
thenapeofmynecktotheedgeofmyshoulder.Betweeneachkisshe
murmurs,“I.Want.You.So.Much.I.Want.To.Be.Inside.You.You.Are.
Mine.”
Eachwordisintoxicating.Iclosemyeyesandtiltmyhead,givinghimeasier
accesstomyneck,andIfallfurtherunderthespellthatisChristianGrey,my
husband.
“Mine,”hewhispersoncemore.Hepeelsmydressdownmyarmssothatit
poolsatmyfeetinacloudofivorysilkandlace.
“Turnaround,”hewhispers,hisvoicesuddenlyhoarse.Idosoandhegasps.
I’mdressedinatight,blush-pinksatincorsetwithgarterstraps,matching
lacybriefs,andwhitesilkstockings.Christian’seyestravelgreedilydownmy
body,buthesaysnothing.Hejustgazesatme,hiseyeswidewithwant.
“Youlike?”Iwhisperawareoftheshyblushcreepingacrossmycheeks.
“Morethanlike,baby.Youlooksensational.Here.”Heholdsouthishandand
takingit,Istepoutfrommydress.
“Keepstill,”hemurmursandwithouttakinghisdarkeningeyesoffmine,he
runshismiddlefingerovermybreasts,followingthelineofmycorset.My
breathshallowsandherepeatsthejourneyovermybreastsoncemore,his
tantalizingfingersendingtinglesdownmy17|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
spine.Hestopsandtwirlshisindexfingerintheair,indicatingthathewants
metoturnaround.Forhim,rightnow,I’ddoanything.
“Stop,”hesays.I’mfacingthebed,awayfromhim.Hisarmencirclesmy
waist,pullingmeagainsthim,andhenuzzlesmyneck.Gentlyhecupsmy
breasts,toyingwiththem,whilehisthumbscircleovermynipplessothat
theystrainagainstthefabricofmycorset.
“Mine,”hewhispers.
“Yours,”Ibreathe.
Leavingmybreastsbereftherunshishandsdownmystomach,overmy
belly,anddowntomythighs,histhumbsskimmingmysex.Istifleamoan.
Hisfingersskatedowneachgarter,andwithhisusualdexterity,he
simultaneouslyunhookseachonefrommystockings.Hishandstravelaround
tomybehind.
“Mine,”hebreathesashishandsspreadacrossmybackside,thetipsofhis
fingersbrushingmysex.
“Ah.”
“Hush.”Hishandstraveldownthebacksofmythighs,andoncemorehe
unclipsmygarters.
Leaningdown,hepullsbackthecoveronthebed.“Sitdown.”
IdoasI’mtoldinhisthrall,andhekneelsatmyfeetandgentlytugsoffeach
ofmywhitebridalJimmyChoos.Hegraspsthetopofmyleftstockingand
slowlypeelsitoff,runninghisthumbsdownmyleg…Ohmy.Herepeatsthe
processwithmyotherstocking.
“ThisislikeunwrappingmyChristmaspresents.”Hesmilesupatmethrough
hislongdarklashes.
“Apresentyou’vehadalready…”
Hefrownsinadmonishment.“Ohno,baby.Thistimeit’sreallymine.”
“Christian,I’vebeenyourssinceIsaidyes.”Iscootforward,cuppinghis
belovedfaceinmyhands.“I’myours.Iwillalwaysbeyours,husbandof
mine.Now,Ithinkyou’rewearingtoomanyclothes.”Ibendtokisshim,and
suddenlyheleansup,kissesmylips,andgraspsmyheadwithhishands,his
fingersthreadingintomyhair.
“Ana,”hebreathes.“MyAna.”Hislipsclaimmineoncemore,histongue
invasivelypersuasive.
18|Page
ELJAMES
“Clothes,”Iwhisper,ourbreathminglingasIpushbackhisvestandhe
strugglesoutofit,releasingmeforamoment.Hepauses,gazingatme,eyes
wide,eyeswanting.
“Letme,please.”Myvoiceissoftandcajoling.Iwanttoundressmy
husband,myFifty.
Hesitsbackonhisheels,andleaningforwardIgrasphistie—hissliver-gray
tie,myfavoritetie—andslowlyundoitandpullitfree.Heraiseshischinto
letmetacklethetopbuttonofhiswhiteshirt;thenonceit’sundone,Imove
ontohiscuffs.He’swearingplatinumcufflinks—engravedwithanentwined
AandC—myweddingpresenttohim.WhenI’veremovedthem,hetakesthe
cufflinksfrommeandfiststheminhishand.Thenhekisseshisfistand
shovesthemintohispantspocket.
“Mr.Grey,soromantic.”
“ForyouMrs.Grey—heartsandflowers.Always.”
Itakehishand,andglancingupthroughmylashes,Ikisshisplainplatinum
weddingring.Hegroansandcloseshiseyes.
“Ana,”hewhispersandmynameisaprayer.
Reachinguptohissecondshirtbutton,andmirroringhimfromearlier,Iplant
asoftkissonhischestasIundoeachofthemandwhisperbetweeneachkiss,
“You.Make.Me.So.Happy.I.Love.You.”
Hegroans,andinoneswiftmoveheclaspsmearoundthewaistandliftsme
ontothebed,followingmedownontoit.Hislipsfindmine,hishands
curlingaroundmyhead,holdingme,stillingmeasourtonguesgloryineach
other.AbruptlyChristiankneelsup,leavingmebreathlessandwantingmore.
“Youaresobeautiful…wife.”Herunshishandsdownmylegsthengrasps
myleftfoot.“Youhavesuchlovelylegs.Iwanttokisseveryinchofthem.
Startinghere.”Hepresseshislipsagainstmybigtoeandthengrazesthepad
withhisteeth.Everythingsouthofmywaistlineconvulses.Histongueglides
upmyinstepandhisteethskimmyheelanduptomyankle.Hetrailskisses
uptheinsideofmycalf;softwetkisses.Iwrigglebeneathhim.
“Still,Mrs.Grey,”hewarns,andsuddenlyheflipsmeontomystomachand
continueshisleisurelyjourneywithhismouthupthebackofmylegs,tomy
thighs,mybehind,andthenhestops.Igroan.19|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Please…”
“Iwantyounaked,”hemurmursandslowlyunhooksmycorset,onehookat
atime.Whenit’sflatonthebedbeneathme,herunshistongueupthelength
ofmyspine.
“Christian,please.”
“Whatdoyouwant,Mrs.Grey.”Hiswordsaresoftandclosetomyear.He’s
almostlyingontopofme…Icanfeelhimhardagainstmybehind.
“You.”
“AndIyou,mylove,mylife…,”hewhispers,andbeforeIknowit,he’s
flippedmeontomyback.Hestandsswiftlyandinoneefficientmove
dispenseswithhispantsandboxerbriefssothathe’sgloriouslynakedand
loominglargeandreadyoverme.Thesmallcabiniseclipsedbyhisdazzling
beautyandhiswantandneedofme.Heleansdownandpeelsoffmypanties
thengazesdownatme.
“Mine,”hemouths.
“Please,”Ibegandhegrins…asalacious,wicked,tempting,allFiftygrin.
Hecrawlsbackontothebedandtrailskissesupmyrightlegthistime…
untilhereachestheapexofmythighs.Hepushesmylegswiderapart.
“Ah…wifeofmine,”hemurmursandthenhismouthisonme.Iclosemy
eyesandsurrendertohisoh-so-adroittongue.Myhandsfistinhishairasmy
hipsswingandsway,slavetohisrhythm,thenbuckoffthesmallbed.He
grabsmyhipstostillme…butdoesn’tstopthedelicioustorture.I’mclose,
soclose.
“Christian,”Imoan.
“Notyet,”hebreathesandhemovesupmybody,histonguedippingintomy
navel.
“No!”Damn!Isensehissmileagainstmybellyashisjourneycontinues
north.
“Soimpatient,Mrs.Grey.WehaveuntilwetouchdownontheEmeraldIsle.”
Reverentiallyhekissesmybreastsandtugsmyleftnipplebetweenhislips.
Gazingupatme,hiseyesaredarklikeatropicalstormasheteasesme.
Ohmy…I’dforgotten.Europe.
“Husband,Iwantyou.Please.”
20|Page
ELJAMES
Heloomsupoverme,hisbodycoveringmine,restinghisweightonhis
elbows.Herunshisnosedownmine,andIrunmyhandsdownhisstrong,
supplebacktohisfine,finebackside.
“Mrs.Grey…wife.Weaimtoplease.”Hislipsbrush.“Iloveyou.”
“Iloveyou,too.”
“Eyesopen.Iwanttoseeyou.”
“Christian…ah…,”Icry,asheslowlysinksintome.
“Ana,ohAna,”hebreathesandhestartstomove.
“Whatthehelldoyouthinkyou’redoing?”Christianshouts,wakingmefrom
myverypleasantdream.He’sstandingallwetandbeautifulattheendofmy
sunloungerandglaringdownatme.
What?WhathaveIdone?Ohno…I’mlyingonmyback…Crap,crap,crap
andhe’smad.Shit.He’sreallymad.
21|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChapterTwo
Iblinkupathim,suddenlyveryawakeaftermysleep,myeroticdream
forgotten.
“Iwasonmyfront.Imusthaveturnedoverinmysleep.”Iwhisperweaklyin
mydefense.
Hiseyesblazewithfury.Hereachesdown,scoopsupmybikinitopfromhis
sunlounger,andtossesitatme.
“Putthison!”hehisses.
“Christian,nooneislooking.”
“Trustme.They’relooking.I’msureTaylorandthesecuritycreware
enjoyingtheshow!”hesnarls.
Holyshit!WhydoIkeepforgettingaboutthem?Igraspmybreastsinpanic,
hidingthem.EversinceCharlieTango’ssabotageddemiseweareconstantly
shadowedbydamnedsecurity.
“Yes,”Christiansnarls.“Andsomesleazyfuckingpaparazzicouldgetashot
ofyou,too.DoyouwanttobealloverthecoverofStarmagazine?Naked
thistime?”
Shit!Thepaparazzi!Fuck!AsIhurriedlyscrambleintomytop,allfingers
andthumbs,thecolordrainsfrommyface.Ishudder.Theunpleasantmemory
ofbeingbesiegedbythepaparazzioutsideSIP
afterourengagementwasleakedcomesunwelcometomind—allpartofthe
ChristianGreypackage.
“L’addition!”Christiansnapsatthepassingwaitress.“We’regoing,”hesays
tome.
“Now?”
“Yes.Now.”
Ohshit,he’snottobearguedwith.
Hepullsonhisshorts,eventhoughhistrunksaredrippingwet,thenhisgray
T-shirt.Thewaitressisbackinamomentwithhiscreditcardandthecheck.
Reluctantly,Iwriggleintomyturquoisesundressandstepintomyflip-flops.
Oncethewaitresshasleft,Christiansnatchesuphisbook22|Page
ELJAMES
andBlackBerryandmaskshisfurybehindmirroredaviatorglasses.He’s
bristlingwithtensionandanger.Myheartsinks.Everyotherwomanonthe
beachistopless—it’snotthatbigofacrime.InfactIlookoddwithmytop
on.Isighinwardly,myspiritssinking.IthoughtChristianwouldseethe
funnyside…sortof…maybeifI’dstayedonmyfront,buthissenseof
humorhasevaporated.
“Pleasedon’tbemadatme,”Iwhisper,takinghisbookandBlackBerryfrom
himandplacingtheminmybackpack.
“Toolateforthat,”hesaysquietly—tooquietly.“Come.”Takingmyhand,he
signalsuptoTaylorandhistwosidekicks,theFrenchsecurityofficers
PhilippeandGaston.Weirdly,theyareidenticaltwins.Theyhavebeen
patientlywatchingusandeveryoneelseonthebeachfromtheverandah.Why
doIkeepforgettingaboutthem?How?Taylorisstony-facedbehindhisdark
glasses.Shit,he’smadatme,too.I’mstillnotusedtoseeinghimsocasually
dressedinshortsandablackpoloshirt.
Christianleadsmeintothehotel,throughthelobby,andoutontothestreet.
Heremainssilent,brooding,andbad-tempered,andit’sallmyfault.Taylor
andhisteamshadowus.
“Wherearewegoing?”Iasktentatively,gazingupathim.
“Backtotheboat.”Hedoesn’tlookatme.
Ihavenoideaofthetime.Ithinkitmustbeaboutfiveorsixintheafternoon.
Whenwereachthequayside,Christianleadsmeontothedockwherethe
motorboatandJetSkibelongingtotheFairLadyaremoored.AsChristian
untiestheJetSki,IhandmybackpacktoTaylor.Iglancenervouslyupat
him,butlikeChristian,hisexpressiongivesnothingaway.Iflush,thinking
aboutwhathe’sseenonthebeach.
“Hereyougo,Mrs.Grey.”Taylorpassesmealifevestfromthemotorboat,
andIdutifullyputiton.WhyamItheonlyonewhohastowearalifejacket?
ChristianandTaylorexchangesomekindoflook.Jeez,isheangrywith
Taylor,too?Christianthenchecksthestrapsonmylifejacket,cinchingthe
middleonetightly.
“You’lldo,”hemutterssullenly,stillnotturningtolookatme.Shit.He
climbsgracefullyontotheJetSkiandholdsouthishandformetojoinhim.
Graspingittightly,Imanagetothrowmylegovertheseatbehindhim
withoutfallingintothewater,whileTaylorandthetwins23|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
clamberintothemotorboat.ChristiankickstheJetSkiawayfromthequay,
anditfloatsgentlyintothemarina.
“Holdon,”heorders,andIputmyarmsaroundhim.Thisismyfavoritepart
oftravelingbyJetSki.Ihughimclosely,mynosenuzzlingintohisback,
marvelingthattherewasatimewhenhewouldnothavetoleratedme
touchinghimthisway.Hesmellsgood…ofChristianandthesea.Forgive
me,Christian,please?
Hestiffens.“Steady,”hesays,histonesofter.Ikisshisbackandrestmy
cheekagainsthim,lookingbacktowardthequaywhereafewholidaymakers
havegatheredtowatchtheshow.
Christianturnsthekeyandthemotorroarstolife.Withonetwistofthe
accelerator,theJetSkibucksforwardandspeedsacrossthecooldarkwater,
throughthemarinaandouttothecenteroftheharbortowardtheFairLady.I
holdhimtighter.Ilovethis—it’ssoexciting.EverymuscleinChristian’slean
frameisevidentasIclingtohim.Taylorpullsalongsideinthemotorboat.
Christianglancesathimthenacceleratesagain,andweshootforward,
whippingoverthetopofthewaterlikeanexpertlytossedpebble.Taylor
shakeshisheadinresignedexasperationandheadsstraighttotheyacht,while
ChristianshootspasttheFairLadyandheadsouttowardtheopensea.The
seasprayissplashingus,thewarmwindbuffetingmyfaceandflayingmy
ponytailcrazilyaroundme.Thisissomuchfun.Maybethethrillofthisride
willdispelChristian’sbadmood.Ican’tseehisface,butIknowhe’s
enjoyinghimself—carefree,actinghisageforachange.
HesteersinahugesemicircleandIstudytheshoreline—theboatsinthe
marina,themosaicofyellow,whiteandsand-coloredofficesandapartments,
andthecraggymountainsbehind.Itlookssodisorganized—notthe
regimentedblocksthatIamusedto—butsopicturesque.Christianglances
overhisshoulderatme,andthere’stheghostofasmileplayingonhislips.
“Again?”heshoutsoverthenoiseoftheengine.
Inodenthusiastically.Hisansweringgrinisdazzling,andheopensthe
throttleandspeedsaroundtheFairLadyandonouttoseaoncemore…andI
thinkI’mforgiven.
24|Page
ELJAMES
“You’vecaughtthesun,”Christiansaysmildlyasheundoesmylifevest.I
anxiouslytrytoassesshismood.Weareondeckaboardtheyacht,andoneof
thestewardsisstandingquietlynearby,waitingformylifevest.Christian
passesittohim.
“Willthatbeall,sir?”theyoungmanasks.IlovehisFrenchaccent.Christian
glancesatme,takesoffhisshades,andslipsthemintothecollarofhisT-
shirt,lettingthemhang.
“Wouldyoulikeadrink?”heasksme.
“DoIneedone?”
Hecockshisheadtooneside.
“Whywouldyousaythat?”Hisvoiceissoft.
“Youknowwhy.”
Hefrownsasifweighingsomethingupinhismind.Oh,whatishethinking?
“Twoginandtonics,please.Andsomenutsandolives,”hesaystothe
steward,whonodsandquicklyvanishes.
“YouthinkI’mgoingtopunishyou?”Christian’svoiceissilky.
“Doyouwantto?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’llthinkofsomething.Maybewhenyou’vehadyourdrink.”Andit’sa
sensualthreat.Iswallow,andmyinnergoddessblinksupfromhersun
loungerwhereshe’stryingtocatchrayswithasilverreflectorfannedoutat
herneck.
Christian’sfrownsoncemore.
“Youwanttobe?”
Howdoesheknow?
“Depends,”Imutter,flushing.
“Onwhat?”Hehideshissmile.
“Ifyouwanttohurtmeornot.”
Hismouthpressesintoahardline,humorforgotten.Heleansforwardand
kissesmyforehead.
“Anastasia,you’remywife,notmysub.Idon’teverwanttohurtyou.You
shouldknowthatbynow.Just…justdon’ttakeyourclothesoffinpublic.I
don’twantyounakedalloverthetabloids.Youdon’twantthat,andI’msure
yourmomandRaydon’twantthateither.”
25|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Oh!Ray.Holyshit,he’dhaveacoronary.WhatwasIthinking?Imentally
castigatemyself.
Thestewardappearswithourdrinksandsnacksandplacesthemontheteak
table.
“Sit,”Christiancommands.Idoashesaysandsettleintoadirector’schair.
Christiantakesaseatbesidemeandpassesmeaginandtonic.
“Cheers,Mrs.Grey.”
“Cheers,Mr.Grey.”
Itakeawelcomesip.It’sthirst-quenching,cold,anddelicious.WhenIgazeat
him,he’swatchingmecarefully,hismoodunreadable.It’sveryfrustrating…
Idon’tknowifhe’sstillmadatme.Ideploymypatenteddistraction
technique.
“Whoownsthisboat?”Iask.
“ABritishknight.SirSomebody-or-Other.Hisgreat-grandfatherstarteda
grocerystore.Hisdaughter’smarriedtooneoftheCrownPrincesofEurope.”
Oh.“Super-rich?”
Christianlookssuddenlywary.“Yes.”
“Likeyou,”Imurmur.
“Yes.”
Oh.
“Andlikeyou,”Christianwhispersandpopsanoliveintohismouth.Iblink
rapidly…avisionofhiminhistuxandsilverwaistcoatcomestomind…his
eyesburningwithsincerityashegazesdownatmeduringourwedding
ceremony.
“Allthatismineisnowyours,”hesays,hisvoiceringingoutclearlyreciting
hisvowsfrommemory.
Allmine?Holycow.
“It’sodd.Goingfromnothingto”—Iwavemyhandtoindicateouropulent
surroundings—“toeverything.”
“You’llgetusedtoit.”
“Idon’tthinkI’llevergetusedtoit.”
Taylorappearsondeck.“Sir,youhaveacall.”Christianfrownsbuttakesthe
profferedBlackberry.
“Grey,”hesnapsandrisesfromhisseattostandatthebowoftheyacht.
26|Page
ELJAMES
Igazeoutatthesea,tuningouthisconversationwithRos—Ithink—his
numbertwo.Iamrich…stinkingrich.Ihavedonenothingtoearnthis
money…justmarriedarichman.Ishudderasmyminddriftsbacktoour
conversationaboutprenups.ItwasSundayafterhisbirthdayandwewere
seatedatthekitchentableenjoyingaleisurelybreakfast…allofus,Elliot,
Kate,Grace,andIweredebatingthemeritsofbaconversussausage,while
CarrickandChristianreadtheSundaypaper…
~o0o~
“Lookatthis,”squealsMiaasshesetshernetbookonthetablebeforeuson
thekitchentable.“There’sagossipyitemontheSeattleNoozwebsiteabout
youbeingengaged,Christian.”
“Already?”Gracesaysinsurprise.Thenhermouthpursesassomeobviously
unpleasantthoughtcrosseshermind.Christianfrowns.Miareadsthecolumn
outloud.“WordhasreachedushereatTheNoozthatSeattle’smosteligible
bachelor,theChristianGrey,hasfinallybeensnappedupandweddingbells
areintheair.Butwhoisthelucky,luckylady?TheNoozisonthehunt.Bet
she’sreadingonehelluvaprenup.”
MiagigglesthenstopsabruptlyasChristianglaresather.Silencedescends,
andtheatmosphereintheGreykitchenplungestobelowzero.
Ohno!Aprenup?Thethoughthasnevercrossedmymind.Iswallow,feeling
alltheblooddrainfrommyface.Pleaseground,swallowmeupnow!
ChristianshiftsuncomfortablyinhischairasIglanceapprehensivelyathim.
“No,”hemouthsatme.
“Christian,”Carricksaysgently.
“I’mnotdiscussingthisagain,”ChristiansnapsatCarrickwhoglancesatme
nervouslyandopenshismouthtosaysomething.
“Noprenup!”Christianalmostshoutsathimandbroodinglygoesbackto
readinghispaper,ignoringeveryoneelseatthetable.Theylookalternatelyat
methenhim…thenanywherebutatthetwoofus.27|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Christian,”Imurmur.“I’llsignanythingyouandMr.Greywant.”
Jeez,itwouldn’tbethefirsttimehe’smademesignsomething.Christian
looksupandglaresatme.
“No!”hesnaps.Iblanchoncemore.
“It’stoprotectyou.”
“Christian,Ana—Ithinkyoushoulddiscussthisinprivate,”Grace
admonishesus.SheglaresatCarrickandMia.Ohdear,lookslikethey’rein
trouble,too.
“Ana,thisisnotaboutyou,”Carrickmurmursreassuringly.“Andpleasecall
meCarrick.”
Christiannarrowscoldeyesathisfatherandmyheartsinks.Hell…He’s
reallymad.
Everyoneeruptsintoanimatedconversation,andMiaandKateleapupto
clearthetable.
“Idefinitelyprefersausage,”exclaimsElliot.
Istaredownatmyknottedfingers.Crap.IhopeMr.andMrs.Greydon’t
thinkI’msomekindofgolddigger.Christianreachesoverandgraspsboth
myhandsgentlyinoneofhis.
“Stopit.”
HowdoesheknowwhatI’mthinking?
“Ignoremydad,”ChristiansayssoonlyIcanhearhim.“He’sreallypissed
aboutElena.Thatstuffwasallaimedatme.Iwishmymomhadkepther
mouthshut.”
IknowChristianisstillsmartingfromhis“talk”withCarrickaboutElenalast
night.
“Hehasapoint,Christian.You’reverywealthy,andI’mbringingnothingto
ourmarriagebutmystudentloans.”
Christiangazesatme,hiseyesbleak.“Anastasia,ifyouleaveme,youmight
aswelltakeeverything.Youleftmeoncebefore.Iknowhowthatfeels.”
HolyFuck!“Thatwasdifferent,”Iwhisper,movedbyhisintensity.
“But…youmightwanttoleaveme.”Thethoughtmakesmesick.
Hesnortsandshakeshisheadwithmockdisgust.
“Christian,youknow,Imightdosomethingexceptionallystupid—
andyou…”Iglancedownatmyknottedhands,painlancingthroughme
unabletofinishmysentence.LosingChristian…fuck.28|Page
ELJAMES
“Stop.Stopnow.Thissubjectisclosed,Ana.We’renotdiscussingitany
more.Noprenup.Notnow—notever.”Hegivesmeapointedgive-it-up-now
look,whichsilencesme.ThenheturnstoGrace.
“Mom,”hesays.“Canwehavetheweddinghere?”
~o0o~
Andhe’snotmentioneditagain.Infactateveryopportunityhe’striedto
reassuremeabouthiswealth…that’sitmine,too.IshudderasIrecallthe
crazyshoppingfestChristiandemandedIgoonwithCarolineActon—the
personalshopperfromNiemans—inpreparationforthishoneymoon.My
bikinialonecostfivehundredandfortydollars.Imean,it’snice,butreally—
that’saridiculousamountofmoneyforfourtriangularscrapsofmaterial.
“Youwillgetusedtoit,”Christianinterruptsmyreverieasheresumeshis
placeatthetable.
“Usedtoit?”
“Themoney,”hesaysrollinghiseyes.
Oh,Fifty,maybewithtime.Ipushthesmalldishofsaltedalmondsand
cashewstowardhim.
“Yournuts,sir,”IsaywithasstraightafaceasIcanmanage,tryingtobring
somehumortoourconversationaftermydarkthoughtsandmybikinitop
fauxpas.
Hesmirks.“I’mnutsaboutyou.”Hetakesanalmond,hiseyessparklingwith
wickedhumorasheenjoysmylittlejoke.Helickshislips.“Drinkup.We’re
goingtobed.”
What?
“Drink,”hemouthsatme,hiseyesdarkening.
Ohmy,thelookhegivesmecouldbesolelyresponsibleforglobalwarming.
Ipickupmyginanddraintheglass,nottakingmyeyesoffhim.Hismouth
dropsopen,andIglimpsethetipofhistonguebetweenhisteeth.Hesmiles
lewdlyatme.Inonefluidmove,hegetsupandbendsoverme,restinghis
handsonthearmsofmychair.
“I’mgoingtomakeanexampleofyou.Come.Don’tpee,”hewhispersinmy
ear.
Igasp.Don’tpee?Howrude.Mysubconsciouslooksupfromherbook—
TheCompleteworksofCharlesDickens,Vol.1—withalarm.29|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“It’snotwhatyouthink.”Christiansmirks,holdinghishandouttome.“Trust
me.”Helookssosexyandgenial.HowcanIresist?
“Okay.”Iplacemyhandinhis,becausequitesimply,I’dtrusthimwithmy
life.Whathashegotplanned?Myheartstartspoundinginanticipation.
Heleadsmeacrossthedeckandthroughthedoorsintotheplush,beautifully
appointedmainsalon,alonganarrowcorridor,throughthediningroom,and
downthestairstothemainmastercabin.Thecabinhasbeencleanedsince
thismorningandthebedmade.It’salovelyroom.Withtwoportholeson
boththestarboardandportsides,it’selegantlydecoratedindarkwalnut
furniturewithcreamwallsandsoftfurnishingsingoldandred.
Christianreleasesmyhand,pullshisT-shirtoffoverhishead,andtossesit
ontoachair.Hestepsoutofhisflip-flopsandremoveshisshortsandtrunks
inonegracefulmove.Ohmy.WillIevertireoflookingathimnaked?Heis
utterlygorgeous,andallmine.Hisskinglows—he’scaughtthesun,too,and
hishairislonger,floppingoverhisforehead.Iamonelucky,luckygirl.
Hereachesforwardandgraspsmychin,pullingslightlysothatIstopbiting
mylipandrunshisthumbalongmylowerlip.
“That’sbetter.”Heturnsandstridesovertotheimpressivearmoirethat
houseshisclothes.Heproducestwopairsofmetalhandcuffsandanairline
eyemaskfromthebottomdrawer.
Handcuffs!We’veneverusedhandcuffs.Iglancequicklyandnervouslyatthe
bed.Wherethehellishegoingtoattachthose?Heturnsandgazessteadilyat
me,hiseyesdarkandluminous.
“Thesecanbequitepainful.Theycanbiteintotheskinifyoupulltoohard.”
Heholdsuponepair.“ButIreallywanttousethemonyounow.”
Holyfuck.Mymouthgoesdry.
“Here.”Hestalksgracefullyforwardandhandsmeaset.“Doyouwanttotry
themfirst?”
Theyfeelsolid,themetalcold.Vaguely,IhopeIneverhavetowearapairof
theseforreal.
Christianiswatchingmeintently.
“Wherearethekeys?”Myvoicewavering.
30|Page
ELJAMES
Heholdsouthispalm,revealingasmallmetallickey.“Thisdoesbothsets.In
fact,allsets.”
Howmanysetsdoeshehave?Idon’trememberseeinganyinthemuseum
chest.
Reachingup,hestrokesmycheekwithhisindexfinger,trailingitdownto
mymouth.Heleansinasiftokissme.
“Doyouwanttoplay?”hesays,hisvoicelow,andeverythinginmybody
headssouthasdesireunfurlsdeepinmybelly.
“Yes,”Ibreathe.
Hesmiles.“Good.”Heplantsafeatherlightkissonmyforehead.
“We’regoingtoneedasafeword.”
What?
“Stopwon’tbeenoughbecauseyouwillprobablysaythat,butyouwon’t
meanit.”Herunshisnosedownmine—theonlycontactbetweenus.
Whatdoeshemean?Myheartstartspounding.Shit…Howcanhedothis
withjustwords?
“Thisisnotgoingtohurt.Itwillbeintense.Veryintense,becauseIamnot
goingtoletyoumove.Okay?”
Ohmy.Thissoundssohot.Mybreathingistooloud.Fuck,Iampanting
already.Myinnergoddesshashersequinsonandiswarminguptodancethe
rumba.ThankheavensI’mmarriedtothisman,otherwisethiswouldbe
embarrassing.Myeyesflickdowntohisarousal.
“Okay.”Myvoiceisbarelyaudible.
“Chooseaword,Ana.”
Oh…
“Asafeword,”hesayssoftly.
“Popsicle.”Isay,panting.
“Popsicle?”hesays,amused.
“Yes.”
Hegrinsasheleansbacktogazedownatme.“Interestingchoice.Liftup
yourarms.”
IdoasI’mtold,andChristiangraspsthehemofmysundress,liftsitovermy
head,andtossesitonthefloor.Heholdsouthishand,andIgivehimbackthe
handcuffs.Heplacesbothsetsonthebedsidetable31|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
alongwiththeblindfoldandyanksthequiltoffthebed,lettingitfalltothe
floor.
“Turnround.”
Iturn,andheundoesmybikinitopsothatitfallstothefloor.
“Tomorrow,Iwillstaplethistoyou,”hemuttersandtugsonmyhairtie,
freeingmyhair.HegathersitintoonehandandyanksgentlysoIstepback
againsthim.Againsthischest.Againsthiserection.Igaspashepullsmy
headtoonesideandkissesmyneck.
“Youwereverydisobedient,”hemurmursinmyear,sendingdelicious
shiversthroughme.
“Yes,”Iwhisper.
“Hmm.Whatarewegoingtodoaboutthat?”
“Learntolivewithit,”Ibreathe.Hissoftlanguidkissesaredrivingmewild.
Hegrinsagainstmyneck.
“Ah,Mrs.Grey.Youareevertheoptimist.”
Hestraightens.Takingmyhair,hecarefullypartsitintothreestrands,braids
itslowly,andthenfastensmyhairtietotheend.Hetugsmybraidgentlyand
leansdowntomyear.
“Iamgoingtoteachyoualesson,”hemurmurs.
Movingsuddenly,hegrabsmebythewaist,sitsdownonthebed,andyanks
meacrosshiskneesothatIfeelhiserectionpressedagainstmybelly.He
smacksmybacksideonce,hard.Iyelp,thenI’monmybackonthebedand
he’sgazingdownatme,hiseyesmoltengray.I’mgoingtocombust.
“Doyouknowhowbeautifulyouare?”Hetrailshisfingertipsupmythighso
thatItingle…everywhere.Withouttakinghiseyesoffme,hegetsupfrom
thebedandgathersbothsetsofhandcuffs.Hegraspsmyleftlegandsnaps
onecuffaroundmyankle.Oh!
Liftingmyrightleg,herepeatstheprocesssoIhaveapairofhandcuffs
attachedtoeachankle.Istillhavenoideawherehe’sgoingtoattachthem.
“Situp,”heordersandIcomplyimmediately.
“Nowhugyourknees.”
Iblinkathimthendrawmylegsupsotheyarebentinfrontofmeandwrap
myarmsaroundthem.Hereachesdown,liftsmychin,andplantsasoftwet
kissonmylipsbeforeslippingtheblindfoldovermy32|Page
ELJAMES
eyes.Icanseenothing,allIcanhearismyrapidbreathingandthesoundof
thewaterlappingagainstthesidesoftheyachtasshebobsgentlyonthesea.
Ohmy.Iamsoaroused…already.
“What’sthesafeword,Anastasia?”
“Popsicle.”
“Good.”Takingmylefthand,hesnapsacuffaroundmywristthenrepeats
theprocesswithmyright.Mylefthandistiedtomyleftankle,myrighthand
totherightleg.Icannotstraightenmylegs.Holyfuck.
“Now,”Christianbreathes,“I’mgoingtofuckyoutillyouscream.”
What?Andalltheairleavesmybody.
HegraspsbothofmyheelsandtipsmebacksothatIfallbackwardontothe
bed.Ihavenochoicebuttokeepmylegsbent.ThecuffstightenasIpull
againstthem.He’sright…theycutintomealmosttothepointofpain…
Thisfeelsweird—beingtrussedupandhelpless—
onaboat.Hepullsmyanklesapart,andIgroan.
Hekissesmyinnerthigh,andIwanttosquirmbeneathhim,butIcan’t.I
havenopurchasetomovemyhips.Myfeetaresuspended.Icannotmove.
Holyshit.
“You’regoingtohavetoabsorballthepleasure,Anastasia.Nomoving,”he
murmursashecrawlsupmybody,kissingmealongtheedgeofmybikini
bottoms.Hepullsthestringsoneachside,andthescrapsofmaterialfall
away.Iamnownakedandathismercy.Hekissesmybelly,nippingmynavel
withhisteeth.
“Ah,”Isigh.Thisisgoingtobetough…Ihadnoidea.Hetracessoftkisses
andlittlebitesuptomybreasts.
“Shhh…,”hesoothes.“Youaresobeautiful,Ana.”
Igroan,frustrated.NormallyI’dbegrindingmyhips,respondingtohistouch
witharhythmofmyown,butIcannotmove.Imoan,pullingonmy
restraints.Themetalbitesintomyskin.
“Argh!”Icry.ButIreallydon’tcare.
“Youdrivemecrazy,”hewhispers.“SoIamgoingtodriveyoucrazy.”He’s
restingonmenow,hisweightonhiselbows,andheturnshisattentiontomy
breasts.Biting,sucking,rollingmynipplesbetweenhisfingersandthumbs,
drivingmewild.Hedoesn’tstop.It’smaddening.Oh.Please.Hiserection
pushesagainstme.
“Christian,”Ibeg.
33|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ifeelhistriumphantsmileagainstmyskin.
“ShallImakeyoucomethisway?”Hemurmursagainstmynipple,causingit
tohardensomemore.“YouknowIcan.”HesucklesmehardandIcryout,
pleasurelancingfrommychestdirectlytomygroin.Ipullhelplesslyonthe
cuffs,swampedbythesensation.
“Yes,”Iwhimper.
“Ohbaby,thatwouldbetooeasy.”
“Oh…please.”
“Shh.”Histeethscrapemychinashetrailshislipstomymouth,andIgasp.
Hekissesme.Hisskilledtongueinvadesmymouth,tasting,exploring,
dominating,butmytonguemeetshischallenge,writhingagainsthis.He
tastesofcoolginandChristianGrey,andhesmellsofthesea.Hegraspsmy
chin,holdingmyheadinplace.
“Still,baby.Iwantyoustill,”hewhispersagainstmymouth.
“Iwanttoseeyou.”
“Ohno,Ana.You’llfeelmorethisway.”Andagonizinglyslowlyheflexes
hishipsandpushespartwayintome.Iwouldnormallytiltmypelvisupto
meethimbutIcan’tmove.Hewithdraws.
“Ah!Christian,please!”
“Again?”heteases,hisvoicehoarse.
“Christian!”
Hepushesfractionallyintomeagainthenwithdrawswhilekissingme,his
fingerstuggingatmynipple.It’spleasureoverload.
“No!”
“Doyouwantme,Anastasia?”
“Yes,”Ibeg.
“Tellme,”hemurmurs,hisbreathingharsh,andheteasesmeoncemore—in
…andout.
“Iwantyou,”Iwhimper.“Please.”
Ihearhissoftsighagainstmyear.
“Andhavemeyouwill,Anastasia.”
Herearsupandslamsintome.Iscream,tiltingmyheadback,pullingonthe
restraintsashehitsmysweetspot,andIamallsensation,everywhere—a
sweet,sweetagony,andIcannotmove.Hestillsthencircleshiships,andthe
motionradiatesdeepinsideme.
“Whydoyoudefyme,Ana?”
“Christian,stop…”
34|Page
ELJAMES
Hecirclesdeepinsidemeagain,ignoringmyplea,easingoutslowlyandthen
slammingintomeagain.
“Tellme.Why?”hehisses,andI’mvaguelyawarethatit’sthroughgritted
teeth.
Icryoutinanincoherentwail…thisistoomuch.
“Tellme.”
“Christian…”
“Ana,Ineedtoknow.”
Heslamsintomeagain,thrustingsodeep,andI’mbuilding…thefeelingis
sointense—itswampsme,spiralingoutfromdeepwithinmybelly,toeach
limb,toeachbitingmetalrestraint.
“Idon’tknow!”Icryout.“BecauseIcan!BecauseIloveyou!
Please,Christian.”
Hegroansloudlyandthrustsdeep,againandagain,overandover,andIam
lost,tryingtoabsorbthepleasure.It’smindblowing…bodyblowing…I
longtostraightenmylegs,tocontrolmyimminentorgasm,butIcan’t…I’m
helpless.I’mhis,justhis,todowithashewills…Tearsspringtomyeyes.
Thisistoointense.Ican’tstophim.Idon’twanttostophim…Iwant…I
want…ohno,ohno…thisistoo…
“That’sit,”Christiangrowls.“Feelit,baby!”
Idetonatearoundhim,againandagain,roundandround,screamingloudlyas
myorgasmripsmeapart,scorchingthroughmelikeawildfire,consuming
everything.Iamwrungragged,tearsstreamingdownmyface—mybodyleft
pulsingandshaking.
AndI’mawarethatChristiankneels,stillinsideme,pullingmeuprightonto
hislap.Heclutchesmyheadwithonehandandmybackwithanother,andhe
comesviolentlyinsidemewhilemyinsidescontinuetotremblewith
aftershocks.It’sdraining,it’sexhausting,it’shell…it’sheaven.It’s
hedonismgonewild.
Christiantearsofftheblindfoldandkissesme.Hekissesmyeyes,mynose,
mycheeks.Hekissesawaythetears,clutchingmyfaceinbetweenhishands.
“Iloveyou,Mrs.Grey,”hebreathes.“Eventhoughyoumakemesomad—I
feelsoalivewithyou.”Idon’thavetheenergytoopeneithermyeyesormy
mouthtorespond.Verygently,helaysmebackonthebedandeasesoutof
me.
35|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Imouthsomewordlessprotest.Heclimbsoffthebedandundoesthe
handcuffs.WhenI’mfree,hegentlyrubsmywristsandankles,thenlies
downbesidemeagain,pullingmeintohisarms.Istretchoutmylegs.Ohmy,
thatfeelsgood.Ifeelgood.Thatwas,withoutdoubt,themostintenseclimax
Ihaveeverendured.Hmm…aChristianGreyfiftyshadespunishmentfuck.
Ireallymustmisbehavemoreoften.
Apressingneedfrommybladderwakesme.WhenIopenmyeyes,I’m
disorientated.It’sdarkoutside.WhereamI?London?Paris?Oh—theboat.I
feelherpitchandroll,andhearthequiethumoftheengines.We’reonthe
move.Howodd.Christianisbesideme,workingonhislaptop,casually
dressedinawhitelinenshirtandchinotrousers,hisfeetbare.Hishairisstill
wet,Ipresumefromashower.IcansmellhisbodywashandhisChristian
smell…Hmm.
“Hi,”hemurmurs,gazingdownatme,hiseyeswarm.
“Hi.”Ismile,feelingsuddenlyshy.“HowlonghaveIbeenasleep?”
“Justanhourorso.”
“We’removing?”
“IfiguredsinceweateoutlastnightandwenttotheballetandtheCasinothat
we’ddineonboardtonight.Aquietnightàdeux.”
Igrinathim.“Wherearewegoing?”
“Cannes.”
“Okay.”Istretch,feelingstiff.NoamountoftrainingwithClaudecouldhave
preparedmeforthisafternoon.
Irisegingerly,needingthebathroom.Grabbingmysilkrobe,Ihastilyputit
on.WhyamIsoshy?IfeelChristian’seyesonme.WhenIglanceathim,he
returnstohislaptop,hisbrowfurrowed.Why’shefrowning?
AsIabsentmindedlywashmyhandsatthevanityunit,recallinglastnightat
theCasino,myrobefallsopen.Istareatmyselfinthemirror,shocked.
Holyfuck!Whathashedonetome?
36|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterThree
Igazeinhorrorattheredmarksallovermybreasts.Hickeys!Ihavehickeys!
IammarriedtooneofthemostrespectedbusinessmenintheUnitedStates,
andhe’sgivenmegoddamnhickeys.HowdidInotfeelhimdoingthistome?
Iflush.ThefactisIknowexactlywhy—Mr.Orgasmicwasusinghisfine-
motorsexingskillsonme.Mysubconsciouspeersoverherhalf-moonspecs
andtutsdisapprovingly,whilemyinnergoddessslumbersonherchaise
longue,outforthecount.Igapeatmyreflection.Mywristshavearedwelt
aroundthemfromthehandcuffs.Nodoubtthey’llbruise.Iexaminemy
ankles—morewelts.Holyhell,IlooklikeI’vebeeninsomesortofaccident.
Igazeatmyself,tryingtoabsorbhowIlook.Mybodyissodifferentthese
days.It’schangedsubtlysinceI’veknownhim…I’vebecomeleanerand
fitter,andmyhairisglossyandwellcut.Mynailsaremanicured,myfeet
pedicured,myeyebrowsthreadedandbeautifullyshaped.Forthefirsttimein
mylife,I’mwellgroomed—
exceptforthesehideouslovebites.
Idon’twanttothinkaboutgroomingatthemoment.I’mtoomad.Howdare
hemarkmelikethis,likesometeenager.Intheshorttimewe’vebeen
together,he’snevergivenmehickeys.Ilooklikehell.Iknowwhyhe’sdone
this.Damncontrolfreak.Right!Mysubconsciousfoldsherarmsbeneathher
smallbosom—he’sgonetoofarthistime.Istalkoutoftheensuitebathroom
andintothewalk-incloset,carefullyavoidingevenaglanceinhisdirection.
Slippingoutofmyrobe,Ipullonmysweatpantsandacamisole.Iundothe
braid,pickupahairbrushfromthesmallvanityunit,andbrushoutmy
tangles.
“Anastasia,”ChristiancallsandIhearhisanxiety.“Areyouokay?”
Iignorehim.AmIokay?No,Iamnotokay.Afterwhathe’sdonetome,I
doubtI’llbeabletowearaswimsuit,letaloneoneofmyridiculously
expensivebikinis,fortherestofourhoneymoon.Thethoughtissuddenlyso
infuriating.Howdarehe?I’llgivehimareyouokay.Iseetheasfuryspikes
throughme.Icanbehavelikean37|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
adolescent,too!Steppingbackintothebedroom,Ihurlthehairbrushathim,
turn,andleave—thoughnotbeforeIseehisshockedexpressionandhis
lightningreactionasheraiseshisarmtoprotecthisheadsothatthebrush
bouncesineffectivelyoffhisforearmandontothebed.Istormoutofour
cabinandrunupstairsandoutondeck,stompingtowardthebow.Ineed
somespacetocalmdown.It’sdarkandtheairisbalmy.Thewarmbreeze
carriesthesmelloftheMediterraneanandthescentofjasmineand
bougainvilleafromtheshore.TheFairLadyglideseffortlesslythroughthe
calmcobaltseaasIrestmyelbowsonthewoodenrailing,gazingatthe
distantshorewheretinylightswinkandtwinkle.Itakeadeep,healingbreath
andslowlybegintocalm.I’mawareofhimbehindmebeforeIhearhim.
“You’remadatme,”hewhispers.
“Noshit,Sherlock!”
“Howmad?”
“Scaleofonetoten,IthinkI’matfifty.Apt,huh?”
“Thatmad.”Hesoundssurprisedandimpressedatonce.
“Yes.Pushedtoviolencemad,”Isaythroughgrittedteeth.HestayssilentasI
turnandscowlathim,watchingmewithwideandwaryeyes.Iknowfrom
thatexpressionandthathe’smadenomovetotouchmethathe’soutofhis
depth.
“Christian,youhavetostopunilaterallytryingtobringmetoheel.Youmade
yourpointonthebeach.Veryeffectively,asIrecall.”
Heshrugsminutely.“Well,youwon’ttakeyourtopoffagain,”hemurmurs
petulantly.
What?Andthisjustifieswhathe’sdonetome?Iglareathim.“Idon’tlike
youleavingmarksonme.Well,notthismany,anyway.It’sahardlimit!”I
hissathim.
“Idon’tlikeyoutakingyourclothesoffinpublic.That’sahardlimitforme,”
hegrowls.
“Ithinkwe’veestablishedthat,”Ihissthroughmyteeth.“Lookatme!”Ipull
downmycamisoletorevealthetopofmybreasts.Christiangazesatme,his
eyesnotleavingmyfacehisexpressionwaryanduncertain.He’snotusedto
seeingmethismad.Can’theseewhathe’sdone?Can’theseehowridiculous
heis?Iwanttoshoutathim,butIrefrain—Idon’twanttopushhimtoofar.
Heavenknowswhathe’ddo.38|Page
ELJAMES
Eventually,heblinksandholdshispalmsupinaresigned,conciliatory
gesture.
“Okay,”hesayshisvoiceplacating.“Igetit.”
Hallelujah!
“Good!”
Herunshishandthroughhishair.“I’msorry.Pleasedon’tbemadatme.”
Finally,helookscontrite—usingmyownwordsbackatme.
“Youaresuchanadolescentsometimes,”Iscoldhim,mulishly,butthefight
hasgoneoutofmyvoice,andheknowsit.Hestepscloserandtentatively
raiseshishandtotuckmyhairbehindmyear.
“Iknow,”heacknowledgessoftly.“Ihavealottolearn.”
Dr.Flynn’swordscomebacktome…Emotionally,Christianisan
adolescent,Ana.Hebypassedthatphaseinhislifetotally.He’schanneledall
hisenergiesintosucceedinginthebusinessworld,andhehasbeyondall
expectations.Hisemotionalworldhastoplaycatch-up.
Myheartthawsalittle.
“Webothdo.”Isighandcautiouslyraisemyhand,placingitoverhisheart.
Hedoesn’tflinchlikeheusedto,buthestiffens.Herestshishandovermine
andsmileshisshysmile.
“I’vejustlearnedthatyou’veagoodarmandagoodaim,Mrs.Grey.Iwould
neverhavefiguredthat,butthenIconstantlyunderestimateyou.Youalways
surpriseme.”
Iarchmyeyebrowathim.“TargetpracticewithRay.Icanthrowandshoot
straight,Mr.Grey,andyou’ddowelltorememberthat.”
“Iwillendeavortodothat,Mrs.Grey,orensurethatallpotentialprojectile
objectsarenaileddownandthatyoudon’thaveaccesstoagun.”Hesmirks
atme.
Ismirkback,narrowingmyeyes.“I’mresourceful.”
“Thatyouare,”hewhispersandreleasesmyhandtocirclehisarmsaround
me.Pullingmeintoanembrace,heburieshisnoseinmyhair.Iwrapmy
armsaroundhim,holdinghimclose,andfeelthetensionleavehisbodyashe
nuzzlesme.
“AmIforgiven?”
“AmI?”
Ifeelhissmile.“Yes,”heanswers.
“Ditto.”
39|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Westandholdingeachother,mypiqueforgotten.Hedoessmellgood,
adolescentornot.HowcanIresisthim?
“Hungry?”hesaysafterawhile.Ihavemyeyesclosedandmyheadagainst
hischest.
“Yes.Famished.Allthe…er…activityhasgivenmeanappetite.ButI’m
notdressedfordinner.”I’msuremysweatpantsandcamisolewouldbe
frowneduponinthediningroom.
“Youlookgoodtome,Anastasia.Besides,it’sourboatfortheweek;wecan
dresshowwelike.ThinkofitasdressdownTuesdayontheCoteD’Azur.
Anyway,Ithoughtwe’deatondeck.”
“Yes,I’dlikethat.”
Heleansdownandkissesme—anearnestforgive-mekiss—thenwewander
handinhandtowardthebowwhereourgazpachosoupawaits.
Thestewardservesourcrèmebruléeanddiscreetlyretires.
“Whydoyoualwaysbraidmyhair?”IaskChristianoutofcuriosity.We’re
sittingadjacenttoeachotheratthetable,mylowerlegcurledaroundhis.He
pausesashe’sabouttopickuphisdessertspoonandfrowns.
“Idon’twantyourhaircatchinginanything,”hesaysquietly,andfora
momenthe’slostinthought.“Habit,Ithink,”hemuses.Suddenlyhefrowns
andhiseyeswiden,hispupilsdilatingwithalarm.Holyshit!What’she
remembered?It’ssomethingpainful,someearlychildhoodmemory,Iguess.I
don’twanttoremindhimofthat.Leaningover,Iputmyindexfingeroverhis
lips.
“No,itdoesn’tmatter.Idon’tneedtoknow.Iwasjustcurious.”Igivehima
warm,reassuringsmile.Hislookiswary,butafteramomenthevisibly
relaxes,hisreliefevident.Ileanovertokissthecornerofhismouth.
“Iloveyou,”Imurmur,andhesmileshisheart-achinglyshysmile,andI
melt.“Iwillalwaysloveyou,Christian.”
“AndIyou,”hesayssoftly.
“Inspiteofmydisobedience?”Iraisemyeyebrow.
“Becauseofyourdisobedience,Anastasia.”Hegrinsatme.40|Page
ELJAMES
Icrackmyspoonthroughtheburntsugarcrustofmydessertandshakemy
head.WillIeverunderstandthisman?Hmm—thiscrèmebruléeisdelicious.
Oncethestewardhasclearedourdessertplates,Christianreachesforthe
bottleofroséandrefillsmyglass.Icheckthatwe’realoneandask,
“What’swiththenogoingtothebathroomthing?”
“Youreallywanttoknow?”Hehalfsmiles,hiseyesalightwithasalacious
gleam.
“DoI?”IgazeathimthroughmylashesasItakeasipofmywine.
“Thefulleryourbladder,themoreintenseyourorgasm,Ana.”
Iflush.“Oh.Isee.”Holycow,thatexplainsalot.Hegrinsatme,lookingfar
tooknowing.WillIalwaysbeonthebackfootwithMr.Sexpertise?
“Yes.Well…”Idesperatelyhuntaroundforachangeofsubject.Hetakes
pityonme.
“Whatdoyouwanttodofortherestoftheevening?”Hecockshisheadto
onesideandgivesmehislopsidedgrin.
Whateveryouwant,Christian.Putyourtheorytothetestagain?Ishrug.
“IknowwhatIwanttodo,”hemurmurs.Grabbinghisglassofwine,herises
andholdshishandouttome.“Come.”
Itakehishandandheleadsmeintothemainsalon.HisiPodisinthespeaker
dockonthebureau.Heswitchesitonandselectsasong.
“Dancewithme.”Hepullsmeintohisarms.
“Ifyouinsist.”
“Iinsist,Mrs.Grey.”
Aslinky,cheesymelodystarts.IsthisaLatinrhythm?Christiangrinsdownat
meandstartstomove,sweepingmeoffmyfeetandtakingmewithhim
roundthesalon.
Amanwithavoicelikewarmmeltedcaramelcroons.It’sasongIknowbut
can’tplace.Christiandipsmelow,andIyelpinsurpriseandgiggle.He
smilesdownatme,hiseyesfilledwithhumor.Thenhescoopsmeupand
spinsmeunderhisarm.
“Youdancesowell,”Isay.“It’slikeIcandance.”
41|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Hegivesmeasphinxlikesmilebutsaysnothing,andIwonderifit’sbecause
he’sthinkingofher…Mrs.Robinson,thewomanwhotaughthimhowto
dance—andhowtofuck.Shehasn’tcrossedmymindforawhile.Christian
hasnotmentionedhersincehisbirthday,andasfarasI’maware,their
businessrelationshipisover.Reluctantlythough,Ihavetoadmit—shewas
someteacher.
Hedipsmelowagainandplantsaswiftkissonmylips.
“I’dmissyourlove,”Imurmur,echoingthelyrics.
“I’dmorethanmissyourlove,”hesaysandspinsmeoncemore.Thenhe
singsthewordssoftlyinmyearmakingmeswoon.
ThetrackendsandChristiangazesdownatme,hiseyesdarkandluminous,
allhumorgone,andI’msuddenlybreathless.
“Cometobedwithme?”hewhispersandit’saheartfeltpleathattugsatmy
heart.
Christian,youhadmeatIdo—twoandhalfweeksago.ButIknowthisishis
wayofapologizingandmakingsurealliswellbetweenusafterourspat.
WhenIwake,thesunisshiningthroughtheportholesandthewaterreflects
shimmeringpatternsontothecabinceiling.Christianisnowheretobeseen.I
stretchoutandsmile.Hmm…I’lltakeapunishmentfuckfollowedby
makeupsexanyday.Imarvelwhatitistogotobedwithtwodifferentmen—
angryChristianandsweetlet-memake-it-up-to-you-in-any-way-I-can
Christian.It’strickytodecidewhichofthemIlikethebest.Iriseandhead
forthebathroom.Openingthedoor,IfindChristianinsideshaving,naked
exceptforatowelwrappedaroundhiswaist.Heturnsandbeamsatme,not
fazedthatIaminterruptinghim.IhavediscoveredthatChristianwillnever
lockthedoorifheistheonlypersonintheroom—thereasonwhyis
sobering,andnotoneIwanttodwellon.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Grey,”hesays,radiatinghisgoodmood.
“Goodmorningyourself.”IgrinbackasIwatchhimshave.Ilovewatching
himshave.Hepullsuphischinandshavesbeneathit,takinglongdeliberate
strokes,andIfindmyselfunconsciouslymirroringhisactions.Pullingmy
upperlipdownjustashedoes,toshavehis42|Page
ELJAMES
philtrum.Heturnsandsmirksatme,onehalfofhisfacestillcoveredin
shavingsoap.
“Enjoyingtheshow?”heasks.
Oh,Christian,Icouldwatchyouforhours.“Oneofmyall-timefavorites,”I
murmur,andheleansdownandkissesmequickly,smearingshavingsoapon
myface.
“ShallIdothistoyouagain?”hewhisperswickedlyandholdsuptherazor.
Ipursemylipsathim.“No,”Imutter,pretendingtosulk.“I’llwaxnext
time.”IrememberChristian’sjoyinLondonwhenhe’ddiscoveredthat
duringhisonemeetingthere,I’dshavedoffmypubichairoutofcuriosity.Of
courseIhadn’tdoneittoMr.Exacting’shighstandards…
~o0o~
“Whatthehellhaveyoudone?”Christianexclaims.Hecannotkeephis
horrifiedamusementtohimself.HesitsupinbedinoursuiteatBrownsHotel
nearPiccadilly,switchesonthebedsidelightandgazesdownatme,his
mouthastartledO.Itmustbemidnight.Iblushthecolorofthesheetsinthe
playroomandtrytopulldownmysatinnightdresssohecan’tsee.Hegrabs
myhandtostopme.
“Ana!”
“I—err…shaved.”
“Icanseethat.Why?”He’sgrinningfromeartoear.Icovermyfacewithmy
hands.WhyamIsoembarrassed?
“Hey,”hesayssoftlyandpullsmyhandaway.“Don’thide.”He’sbitinghis
lipsothathewon’tlaugh.“Tellme.Why?”Hiseyesdancewithmerriment.
Whydoeshefindthissofunny?
“Stoplaughingatme.”
“I’mnotlaughingatyou.I’msorry.I’m…delighted,”hesays.
“Oh…”
“Tellme.Why?”
Itakeadeepbreath.“Thismorning,afteryouleftforyourmeeting,Itooka
showerandwasrememberingallyourrules.”
Heblinks.Thehumorinhisexpressionhasvanished,andheregardsme
cautiously.
43|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“AndIwastickingthemoffonebyoneandhowIfeltaboutthem,andI
rememberedthebeautysalon,andIthought…thisiswhatyou’dlike.I
wasn’tbraveenoughtogetawax.”Myvoicedisappearsintoawhisper.
Hestaresatme,hiseyesglowing—thistimenotwithmirthatmyfolly,but
withlove.
“OhAna,”hebreathes.Heleansdownandkissesmetenderly.
“Youbeguileme,”hewhispersagainstmylipsandkissesmeoncemore,
claspingmyfaceinbothhishands.
Afterabreathlessmoment,hepullsbackandleansupononeelbow.The
humorisback.
“IthinkIshoulddoathoroughinspectionofyourhandiwork,Mrs.Grey.”
“What?No.”Hehastobekidding!Icovermyself,protectingmyrecently
deforestedarea.
“Ohnoyoudon’t,Anastasia.”Hegraspsmyhandsandpriesthemaway,
movingnimblysohe’sbetweenmylegs,pinningmyhandstomysides.He
givesmeaburninglookthatcouldlightdrytinder,butbeforeIcombust,he
bendsandskimshislipsdownmynakedbellydirectlytomysex.Isquirm
beneathhim,reluctantlyresignedtomyfate.
“Well,whathavewehere?”Christianplantsakisswhere,untilthismorning,
Ihadpubichair—thenscrapeshisbristlychinacrossme.
“Ah!”Iexclaim.Wow…that’ssensitive.
Christian’seyesdarttomine,fullofsalaciouslonging.“Ithinkyoumisseda
bit,”hemuttersandtugsgently,rightunderneath.
“Oh…Damn,”Imutter,hopingthiswillputanendtohisfranklyintrusive
scrutiny.
“Ihaveanidea.”Heleapsnakedoutofbedandheadstothebathroom.
Whatonearthishedoing?Hereturnsmomentslater,carryingaglassof
water,amug,myrazor,hisshavingbrush,soap,andatowel.Heputsthe
water,brush,soap,andrazoronthebedsidetableandgazesdownatme,
holdingthetowel.
Ohno!MysubconsciousslamsdownherCompleteWorksofCharles
Dickens,leapsupfromherarmchair,andputsherhandsonherhips.
44|Page
ELJAMES
“No.No.No,”Isqueak.
“Mrs.Grey,ifajob’sworthdoing,it’sworthdoingwell.Liftyourhips.”His
eyesglow,summerstormgray.
“Christian!Youarenotshavingme.”
Hetiltshisheadtooneside.“Whyevernot?”
Iflush…isn’titobvious?“Because…It’sjusttoo…”
“Intimate?”hewhispers.“Ana,Icraveintimacywithyou—youknowthat.
Besides,aftersomeofthethingswe’vedone,don’tgetallsqueamishonme
now.And,Iknowthispartofyourbodybetterthanyoudo.”
Igapeathim.Ofallthearrogant…true,hedoes—butstill.“It’sjustwrong!”
Myvoiceisprissyandwhiney.
“Thisisn’twrong—thisishot.”
Hot?Really?“Thisturnsyouon?”Ican’tkeeptheastonishmentoutofmy
voice.
Hesnorts.“Can’tyoutell?”Heglancesdownathisarousal.“Iwanttoshave
you,”hewhispers
Oh,whatthehell.Ilieback,throwingmyarmovermyfacesoIdon’thaveto
watch.
“Ifitmakesyouhappy,Christian,goahead.Youaresokinky,”Imutter,asI
liftmyhips,andheslipsthetowelbeneathme.Hekissesmyinnerthigh.
“Ohbaby,howrightyouare.”
Ihearthesloshofwaterashedipstheshavingbrushintheglassofwater,
thenthesoftswirlofthebrushinthemug.Hegraspsmyleftankleandparts
mylegs,andthebeddipsashesitsbetweenmylegs.
“I’dreallyliketotieyouuprightnow,”hemurmurs.
“Ipromisetokeepstill.”
“Good.”
Igaspasherunsthelatheredbrushovermypubicbone.It’swarm.Thewater
intheglassmustbehot.Isquirmalittle.Ittickles…butinagoodway.
“Don’tmove,”Christianadmonishesandappliesthebrushagain.
“OrIwilltieyoudown,”headdsdarkly,andadeliciousshiverrunsdownmy
spine.
“Haveyoudonethisbefore?”Iasktentativelywhenhereachesfortherazor.
45|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“No.”
“Oh.Good.”Igrin.
“Anotherfirst,Mrs.Grey.”
“Hmm.Ilikefirsts.”
“Me,too.Heregoes.”Andwithagentlenessthatsurprisesme,herunsthe
razorovermysensitiveflesh.“Keepstill,”hesaysdistractedly,andIknow
he’sconcentratinghard.
Itonlytakesamatterofminutesbeforehegrabsthetowelandwipesallthe
excesslatheroffme.
“There—that’smorelikeit,”hemuses,andIfinallyliftmyarmtolookat
himashesitsbacktoadmirehishandiwork.
“Happy?”Iask,myvoicehoarse.
“Very.”Hegrinswickedlyandslowlyeasesafingerinsideme.
~o0o~
“Butthatwasfun,”hesayshiseyesgentlymocking.
“Foryoumaybe.”Itrytopout—buthe’sright…itwas…arousing.
“Iseemtorecalltheaftermathwasverysatisfying.”Christianreturnsto
finishinghisshave.Iglancequicklydownatmyfingers.Yes,itwas.Ihadno
ideathattheabsenceofpubichaircouldmakesuchadifference.
“Hey,I’mjustteasing.Isn’tthatwhathusbandswhoarehopelesslyinlove
withtheirwivesdo?”Christiantipsmychinupandgazesatme,hiseyes
suddenlyfilledwithapprehensionasheendeavorstoreadmyexpression.
Hmm…paybacktime.
“Sit,”Imutter.
Heblinksatme,notunderstanding.Ipushhimgentlytowardthelonewhite
stoolinthebathroom.Hesitsdown,gazingatmepuzzled,andItakethe
razorfromhim.
“Ana,”hewarnsasherealizesmyintention.Ileandownandkisshim.
“Headback,”Iwhisper.
Hehesitates.
“Titfortat,Mr.Grey.”
46|Page
ELJAMES
Hestaresatmewithwary,amuseddisbelief.“Youknowwhatyou’redoing?”
heasks,hisvoicelow.Ishakemyheadslowly,deliberately,tryingtolookas
seriousaspossible.Hecloseshiseyesandshakeshisheadthentiltshishead
backinsurrender.Holyshit,he’sgoingtoletmeshavehim.Myinnergoddess
flexesandstretchesherarmsoutward,herfingersinterlocked,palmsout,
limberingup.TentativelyIslidemyhandintothedamphairathisforehead,
grippingtightlytoholdhimstill.Heclencheshiseyesclosedandpartshis
lipsasheinhales.Verygently,Istrokehisrazorupfromhisnecktohischin,
revealingapathofskinbeneaththelather.Christianexhales.
“DidyouthinkIwasgoingtohurtyou?”
“Ineverknowwhatyou’regoingtodo,Ana,butno—notintentionally.”
Iruntherazoruphisneckagain,clearingawiderpathinthelather.
“Iwouldneverintentionallyhurtyou,Christian.”
HeopenshiseyesandcircleshisarmsaroundmeasIgentlydragtherazor
downhischeekfromthebottomofhissideburn.
“Iknow,”hesays,anglinghisfacesoIcanshavetherestofhischeek.Two
morestrokesandI’vefinished.
“Alldone,andnotadropofbloodspilt.”Igrinproudly.Herunshishandup
mylegsothatmynightdressridesupmythighandpullsmeontohislapso
thatI’mastridehim.Isteadymyselfwithmyhandsonhisupperarms.He’s
reallyverymuscular.
“CanItakeyousomewheretoday?”
“Nosunbathing?”Iarchacausticbrowathim.
Helickshislipsnervously.“No.Nosunbathingtoday.Ithoughtyoumight
preferthat.”
“Well,sinceyou’vecoveredmeinhickeysandeffectivelyputthekiboshon
that,sure,whynot?”
Wiselyhechoosestoignoremytone.“It’sadrive,butit’sworthavisitfrom
whatI’veread.Mydadrecommendedwevisit.It’sahilltopvillagecalled
SaintPauldeVence.Therearesomegalleriesthere.Ithoughtwecouldpick
outsomepaintingsorsculpturesforthenewhouse,ifwefindanythingwe
like.”
Holycrap.Ileanbackandgazeathim.Art…hewantstobuyart.HowcanI
buyart?
47|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“What?”heasks.
“Iknownothingaboutart,Christian.”
Heshrugsandsmilesatmeindulgently.“We’llonlybuywhatwelike.This
isn’taboutinvestment.”
Investment?Jeez.
“What?”hesaysagain.
Ishakemyhead.
“Look,Iknowweonlygotthearchitect’sdrawingstheotherday—
butthere’snoharminlooking,andthetownisanancient,medievalplace.”
Oh—thearchitect,hehadtoremindmeofher…agoodfriendofElliot’s,
GiaMatteo.Duringourmeetings,she’dbeenalloverChristianlikearash.
“Whatnow?”Christianexclaims.Ishakemyhead.“Tellme,”heurges.
HowcanItellhimthatIdon’tlikeGia?Mydislikeisirrational.Idon’twant
tocomeacrossasthejealouswife.
“You’renotstillmadaboutwhatIdidyesterday?”Hesighsandnuzzleshis
facebetweenmybreasts.
“No.I’mhungry,”Imutter,knowingfullwellthatthiswilldistracthimfrom
thislineofquestioning.
“Whydidn’tyousay?”Heeasesmeoffhislapandstands.
SaintPauldeVenceisamedievalfortifiedhilltopvillage,oneofthemost
picturesqueplacesIhaveeverseen.IstrollarminarmwithChristianthrough
thenarrowcobbledstreets,myhandinthebackpocketofhisshorts.Taylor
andeitherGastonorPhilippe—Ican’ttellthedifferencebetweenthem—trail
behindus.Wepassatree-coveredsquarewherethreeoldmen,onewearinga
traditionalberetinspiteoftheheat,areplayingboules.It’squitecrowded
withtourists,butIfeelcomfortabletuckedunderChristian’sarm.Thereisso
muchtosee—
littlealleysandpassagewaysleadingtocourtyardswithintricatestone
fountains,ancientandmodernsculptures,andfascinatinglittleboutiquesand
shops.
Inthefirstgallery,Christiangazesdistractedlyattheeroticphotographsin
frontofus,suckinggentlyonthearmofhisaviator48|Page
ELJAMES
specs.TheyaretheworkofFlorenceD’elle—nakedwomeninvariousposes.
“NotquitewhatIhadinmind,”Imumbledisapprovingly.Theymakeme
thinkoftheboxofphotographsIfoundinhiscloset,ourcloset.Iwonderif
heeverdiddestroythem.
“Meneither,”Christiansays,grinningdownatme.Hetakesmyhandandwe
strolltothenextartist.Idly,IwonderifIshouldlethimtakephotosofme
afterall.Myinnergoddessnodsfranticallywithapproval.
Thenextdisplayisbyafemalepainterwhospecializesinfigurativeart—fruit
andvegetablessupercloseupandinrich,gloriouscolor.
“Ilikethose.”Ipointtothreepaintingsofpeppers.“Theyremindmeofyou
choppingvegetablesinmyapartment.”Igiggle.Christian’smouthtwistsas
hetriesandfailstohidehisamusement.
“IthoughtImanagedthatquitecompetently,”hemutters.“Iwasjustabit
slow,andanyway”—hepullsmeintoanembrace—”youweredistractingme.
Wherewouldyouputthem?”
“What?”
Christianisnuzzlingmyear.“Thepaintings—wherewouldyouputthem?”
HebitesmyearlobeandIfeelitinmygroin.
“Kitchen,”Imurmur.
“Hmm.Niceidea,Mrs.Grey.”
Isquintattheprice.Fivethousandeuroseach.Holyshit!
“They’rereallyexpensive!”Igasp.
“So?”Henuzzlesmeagain.“Getusedtoit,Ana.”Hereleasesmeand
sauntersovertothedeskwhereayoungwomandressedentirelyinwhiteis
standinggapingathim.Iwanttorollmyeyes,butturnmyattentionbackto
thepaintings.Fivethousandeuros…jeez.
WehavefinishedlunchandarerelaxingovercoffeeattheHotelLeSaint
Paul.Theviewofthesurroundingcountrysideisstunning.Vineyardsand
fieldsofsunflowersformapatchworkacrosstheplain,interspersedhereand
therewithneatlittleFrenchfarmhouses.It’ssuchaclear,beautifuldaywe
canseeallthewaytothesea,glintingfaintlyonthehorizon.Christian
interruptsmyreverie.
49|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“YouaskedmewhyIbraidyourhair,”hemurmurs.Histonealarmsme.He
looks…guilty.
“Yes.”Ohshit.
“Thecrackwhoreusedtoletmeplaywithherhair,Ithink.Idon’tknowif
it’samemoryoradream.”
Whoa!Hisbirthmom.
Hegazesatme,hisexpressionunreadable.Myheartleapsintomymouth.
WhatdoIsaywhenhesaysthingslikethis?
“Ilikeyouplayingwithmyhair.”Myvoiceisgentleandhesitant.Heblinks,
hiseyeswide,andfearful.
“Doyou?”
“Yes.”It’sthetruth.ReachingoverIgrasphishand.“Ithinkyoulovedyour
birthmother,Christian.”Hiseyeswidenevenmoreandhestaresatme
impassively,sayingnothing.
Holyshit.HaveIgonetoofar?Saysomething,Fifty—please.Butheremains
resolutelymute,gazingatmewithfathomlessgrayeyeswhilethesilence
stretchesbetweenus.
Whatareyouthinking,husbandofmine?Helookslost.Heglancesdownat
myhandonhisandhefrowns.
“Saysomething,”Iwhisper,becauseIcannotbearthesilenceanylonger.
Heblinksthenshakeshishead,exhalingdeeply.
“Let’sgo.”Hereleasesmyhandandstands.Hisexpressionguarded.HaveI
oversteppedthemark?Ihavenoidea.MyheartsinksandIdon’tknow
whethertosayanythingelseorjustletitgo.Idecideonthelatterandfollow
himdutifullyoutoftherestaurant.Inthelovelynarrowstreet,hetakesmy
hand.
“Wheredoyouwanttogo?”
Hespeaks!Andhe’snotmadatme—thankheavens.Iexhale,relieved,and
shrug.“Iamjustgladyou’restillspeakingtome.”
“YouknowIdon’tliketalkingaboutallthatshit.It’sdone.Finished,”hesays
quietly.
No,Christian,itisn’t.Thethoughtsaddensme,andforthefirsttimeIwonder
ifitwilleverbefinished.He’llalwaysbeFiftyShades…myFiftyShades.
DoIwanthimtochange?No,notreally—
onlyinsofarasIwanthimtofeelloved.Peekingupathim,Itakeamoment
toadmirehiscaptivatingbeauty…andhe’smine.Andit’s50|Page
ELJAMES
notjusttheallureofhisfine,finefaceandhisbodythathasmespellbound.
It’swhat’sbehindtheperfectionthatdrawsme,thatcallstome…hisfragile,
damagedsoul.Hegivesmethatlook,downhisnose,halfamused,halfwary,
whollysexythentucksmeunderhisarm,andwemakeourwaythroughthe
touriststowardthespotwherePhilippe/Gastonhasparkedtheroomy
Mercedes.IslipmyhandbackintothebackpocketofChristian’sshorts,
gratefulthatheisn’tmadatmypresumption.But,honestly,whatfour-year-
oldchilddoesn’tlovehismom,nomatterhowbadamomsheis?Isigh
heavilyandhughimcloser.Iknowbehindusthesecurityteamlurks,andI
wonderidlyifthey’veeaten.
Christianstopsoutsideasmallboutiquesellingfinejewelryandgazesinthe
window,thendownatme.Hereachesacross,graspsmyfreehand,andruns
histhumbacrossthefadedredlineofthehandcuffmark,inspectingit.
“It’snotsore.”Ireassurehim.Hetwistssothatmyotherhandisfreedfrom
hispocket.Heclaspsthathand,too,turningitgentlyovertoexaminemy
wrist.TheplatinumOmegawatchhegavemeatbreakfastonourfirst
morninginLondonobscurestheredline.Theinscriptionstillmakesme
swoon.
Anastasia
YouaremyMore
MyLove,MyLife
Christian
Inspiteofeverything,allhisfiftyness,myhusbandcanbesoromantic.Igaze
downatthefaintmarksonmywrist.Thenagain,hecanbesavage
sometimes.Releasingmylefthand,hetiltsmychinupwithhisfingersand
scrutinizesmyexpression,hiseyeswideandtroubled.
“Theydon’thurt,”Irepeat.Hepullsmyhandtohislipsandplantsasoft
apologetickissontheinsideofmywrist.
“Come,”hesaysandleadsmeintotheshop.
51|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Here,”Christianholdsopenthefiligreeplatinumbracelethe’sjust
purchased.It’sexquisite,sodelicatelycrafted,thefiligreeintheshapeof
smallabstractflowerswithsmalldiamondsattheirheart.Hefastensitaround
mywrist.It’swideandcuff-likeandhidestheredmarks.Itisalsocost
aroundfifteenthousandeuros,Ithink,thoughIcouldn’treallyfollowthe
conversationinFrenchwiththesalesassistant.Ihaveneverwornanythingso
expensive.
“There,that’sbetter,”hemurmurs.
“Better?”Iwhisper,gazingintoluminousgrayeyes,consciousthatthestick-
thinsalesassistantisstaringatuswithajealousanddisapprovinglookonher
face.
“Youknowwhy,”Christiansaysuncertainly.
“Idon’tneedthis.”Ishakemywristandthecuffmoves.Itcatchesthe
afternoonlightstreamingthroughtheboutiquewindowandsmallsparkling
rainbowsdanceoffthediamondsalloverthewallsofthestore.
“Ido,”hesayswithuttersincerity.
Why?Whydoesheneedthis?Doeshefeelguilty?Aboutwhat?
Themarks?Hisbirthmother?Notconfidinginme?Oh,Fifty.
“No,Christian,youdon’t.You’vegivenmesomuchalready.Amagical
honeymoon,London,Paris,theCoteD’Azur…andyou.I’maverylucky
girl,”Iwhisperandhiseyessoften.
“No,Anastasia,I’maveryluckyman.”
“Thankyou.”Stretchingupontiptoes,Iputmyarmsaroundhisneckand
kisshim…notforgivingmethebracelet,butforbeingmine.
Backinthecarhe’sintrospective,gazingoutatthefieldsofbright
sunflowers,theirheadsfollowingandbaskingintheafternoonsun.Oneof
thetwins—Ithinkit’sGaston—isdrivingandTaylorisbesidehimupfront.
Christianisbroodingaboutsomething.Reachingover,Iclasphishand,
givingitareassuringsqueeze.Heturnstolookatme,beforereleasingmy
handandcaressingmyknee.I’mwearingashort,full,blueandwhiteskirt,
andablue,fitted,sleevelessshirt.Christianhesitates,andIdon’tknowifhis
handisgoingtotravelupmythighordownmyleg.Itensewithanticipation
atthegentletouchofhisfingers52|Page
ELJAMES
andmybreathcatches.What’shegoingtodo?Hechoosesdown,suddenly
graspsmyankleandpullsmyfootontohislap.IswivelmybacksidesoIam
facinghiminthebackofthecar.
“Iwanttheotherone,too.”
Oh!Why?IglancenervouslytowardTaylorandGaston,whoseeyesare
resolutelyontheroadahead,andplacemyotherfootonhislap.Hiseyes
cool,hereachesoverandpressesabuttonlocatedinhisdoor.Infrontofus,a
lightlytintedprivacyscreenslidesoutofapanel,andtensecondslaterweare
effectivelyonourown.Wow…nowonderthebackofthiscarhassomuch
legroom.
“Iwanttolookatyourankles,”Christianoffershisquietexplanation.His
gazeisanxious.Whatnow?Thecuffmarks?Jeez…Ithoughtwe’ddealt
withthis.Iftherearemarks,theyarehiddenbythesandalstraps.Idon’t
recallseeinganythismorning.Gently,hestrokeshisthumbupmyright
instep,makingmewriggle.Asmileplaysonhislipsanddeftlyheundoesone
strap,andhissmilefadesashe’sconfrontedwiththedarkerredmarks.
“Doesn’thurt,”Imurmur.Heglancesatmeandhisexpressionissad,his
mouthathinline.Henodsonceasifhe’stakingmeatmywordwhileIshake
mysandalloosesoitfallstothefloor,butIknowI’velosthim.He’s
distractedandbroodingagain,mechanicallycaressingmyfootwhileheturns
awaytogazeoutthecarwindowoncemore.
“Hey.Whatdidyouexpect?”Iasksoftly.Heglancesatmeandshrugs.
“Ididn’texpecttofeellikeIdolookingatthesemarks,”hesays.What?
Reticentoneminuteandforthcomingthenext?How…Fifty!HowcanIkeep
upwithhim?
“Howdoyoufeel?”
Hegazesatme,hiseyesbleak.“Uncomfortable,”hemurmurs.Ohno.I
unbucklemyseatbeltandscootclosertohim,leavingmyfeetinhislap.I
wanttocrawlintohislapandholdhim,andIwould,ifitwerejustTaylorin
thefront.ButknowingGastonistherecrampsmystyleinspiteoftheglass.If
onlyitweredarker.Iclutchhishands.
“It’sthehickeysIdon’tlike,”Iwhisper.“Everythingelse…whatyoudid”—
Ilowermyvoiceevenfurther—“withthehandcuffs,I53|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
enjoyedthat.Well,morethanenjoyed.Itwasmind-blowing.Youcandothat
tomeagainanytime.”
Heshiftsinhisseat.“Mind-blowing?”Myinnergoddesslooksupstartled
fromherJackieCollins.
“Yes.”Igrin.Iflexmytoesintohishardeningcrotchandseeratherthanhear
hissharpintakeofbreath,hislipsparting.
“Youshouldreallybewearingyourseatbelt,Mrs.Grey.”Hisvoiceislow,
andIcurlmytoesaroundhimoncemore.Hegaspsandhiseyesdarken,and
heclaspsmyankleinwarning.Doeshewantmestop?Continue?Hepauses
andscowls.
Whatnow?
Hefisheshisever-presentBlackBerryoutofhispockettotakeanincoming
callandglancesathiswatch.Hisfrowndeepens.
“Barney,”hesnaps.
Crap.Workinterruptingusagain.Itrytoremovemyfeetbuthishand
tightensonmyankle.
“Intheserverroom?”hesaysindisbelief.“Diditactivatethefiresuppression
system?”
Fire!Itakemyfeetoffhislapandthistimeheletsme.Isitbackinmyseat,
bucklemyseatbelt,andfiddlenervouslywiththefifteenthousand-euro
bracelet.Christianpressesthebuttoninhisdoorarmrestagainandtheprivacy
glassslidesdown.IrealizethatthisisforTaylor’sbenefit.
“Anyoneinjured?Damage?Isee…When?”Christianglancesathiswatch
againthenrunshishandthroughhishair.“No.Notthefiredepartmentorthe
police.Notyetanyway.”
Holycrap!Afire?AtChristian’soffice?Igapeathim,mymindracing.
TaylorshiftssohecanhearChristian’sconversation.
“Hashe?Good…Okay.Iwantadetaileddamagereport.Andacomplete
rundownofeveryonewhohadaccessoverthelastfivedays,includingthe
cleaningstaff…GetholdofAndreaandgethertocallme…Yeah,sounds
liketheargonisjustaseffective,worthitsweightingold.”
Damagereport?Argon?Whatthehell?Itringsadistantbellfromchemistry
class—anelement,Ithink.
54|Page
ELJAMES
“Irealizeit’searly…E-mailmeintwohours…No,Ineedtoknow.Thank
youforcallingme.”Christianhangsup,thenimmediatelypunchesanumber
intotheBlackBerry.
“Welch…Good…When?”Christianglancesathiswatchyetagain.“An
hourthen…yes…Twenty-four-sevenattheoff-sitedatastore…good.”He
hangsup.
“Philippe,Ineedtobeonboardwithinthehour.”
“Monsieur.”
Shit,it’sPhilippe,notGaston.Thecarsurgesforward.Christianglancesat
me,hisexpressionunreadable.
“Anyonehurt?”Iaskquietly.
Christianshakeshishead.“Verylittledamage.”Hereachesoverandclasps
myhand,squeezingitreassuringly.“Don’tworryaboutthis.Myteamison
it.”Andthereheis,theCEO,incommand,incontrolandnotflusteredatall.
“Wherewasthefire?”
“Serverroom.”
“GreyHouse?”
“Yes.”
Hisresponsesareclipped,soIknowhedoesn’twanttotalkaboutit.Why
not?
“Whysolittledamage?”
“Theserverroomisfittedwithastate-of-the-artfiresuppressionsystem.”
Ofcourseitis.
“Ana,please…don’tworry.”
“I’mnotworried,”Ilie.
“Wedon’tknowforsurethatitwasarson,”hesays,cuttingtotheheartofmy
anxiety.Myhandclutchesmythroatinfear.CharlieTango,andnowthis?
Whatnext?
55|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChapterFour
I’mrestless.Christianhasbeenholedupintheonboardstudyforoveran
hour.Ihavetriedreading,watchingTV,sunbathing—fullydressed
sunbathing!—butIcan’trelaxandIcan’tridmyselfofthisedgyfeeling.
AfterchangingintoshortsandaT-shirt,Iremovetheludicrouslyexpensive
bangleandgotofindTaylor.
“Mrs.Grey,”hesays,startledfromhisAnthonyBurgessnovel.He’ssittingin
thesmallsalonoutsideChristian’sstudy.
“I’dliketogoshopping.”
“Yesma’am.”Hestands.
“I’dliketotaketheJetSki.”
Hismouthdropsopen.“Erm.”Hefrowns,lostforwords.
“Idon’twanttobotherChristianwiththis.”
Heflushes.“Mrs.Grey…um…Idon’tthinkMr.Greywouldbevery
comfortablewiththat,andI’dliketokeepmyjob.”
Oh,forheaven’ssake!Iwanttorollmyeyesathim,butInarrowthem
instead,sighingheavilyandexpressing,Ithink,therightamountoffrustrated
indignationthatIamnotmistressofmyowndestiny.Thenagain,Idon’t
wantChristianmadatTaylor—orme,forthatmatter.Stridingconfidently
pasthim,Iknockonthestudydoorandenter.ChristianisonhisBlackBerry,
leaningagainstthemahoganydesk.Hegazesatme.
“Andrea,holdplease,”hemuttersdownthephone,hisexpressionserious.He
gazesatme,politelyexpectant.Shit.WhydoIfeellikeI’veenteredthe
principal’soffice?Thismanhadmeinhandcuffsyesterday.Irefusetobe
intimidatedbyhim,he’smyhusbanddamnit.Isquaremyshouldersandgive
himabroadsmile.
“I’mgoingshopping.I’lltakesecuritywithme.”
“Sure,takeoneofthetwinsandTaylor,too,”hesays.AndIknowthat
whatever’shappeningisseriousbecausehedoesn’tquestionmefurther.I
standstaringathim,wonderingifIcanhelp.
“Anythingelse?”heasks.Hewantsmegone.Crap.56|Page
ELJAMES
“CanIgetyouanything?”Iask.Hesmileshissweetshysmile.
“No,baby,I’mgood,”hesays.“Thecrewwilllookafterme.”
“Okay.”Iwanttokisshim.Hell,Ican—he’smyhusband.Strolling
purposefullyforward,Iplantakissonhislips,surprisinghim.
“Andrea,I’llcallyouback,”hemutters.HeputstheBlackBerrydownonthe
deskbehindhim,pullsmeintohisembrace,andkissesmepassionately.Iam
breathlesswhenhereleasesme.Hiseyesaredarkandneedy.
“You’redistractingme.Ineedtosortthis,soIcangetbacktomy
honeymoon.”Herunsanindexfingerdownmyfaceandcaressesmychin,
tiltingmyfaceup.
“Okay.I’msorry.”
“Pleasedon’tapologize,Mrs.Grey.Iloveyourdistractions.”Hekissesthe
cornerofmymouth.
“Gospendsomemoney.”Hereleasesme.
“Willdo.”IsmirkathimasIexithisstudy.Mysubconsciousshakesherhead
andpursesherlips.Youdidn’ttellhimyouweregoingontheJetSki,she
chastisesmeinhersingsongvoice.Iignoreher…Harpy.
Taylorispatientlywaiting.
“That’sallclearedwithhighcommand…canwego?”Ismile,tryingtokeep
thesarcasmoutofmyvoice.Taylordoesn’thidehisadmiringsmile.
“Mrs.Grey,afteryou.”
TaylorpatientlytalksmethroughthecontrolsontheJetSkiandhowtoride
it.Hehasacalm,gentleauthorityabouthim;he’sagoodteacher.Wearein
themotorlaunch,bobbingandweavingonthecalmwatersoftheharbor
besidetheFairLady.Gastonlookson,hisexpressionhiddenbyhisshades,
andoneoftheFairLady’screwisatthecontrolsofthemotorlaunch.Jeez—
threepeoplewithme,justbecauseIwanttogoshopping.It’sridiculous.
Zippingupmylifejacket,IgiveTaylorabeaminggrin.Heholdsouthishand
toassistmeasIclimbontotheJetSki.
“Fastenthestrapoftheignitionkeyaroundyourwrist,Mrs.Grey.Ifyoufall
off,theenginewillcutoutautomatically,”heexplains.57|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Okay.”
“Ready?’
Inodenthusiastically.
“Presstheignitionwhenyou’vedriftedaboutfourfeetawayfromtheboat.
We’llfollowyou.”
“Okay.”
HepushestheJetSkiawayfromthelaunch,anditfloatsgentlyintothemain
harbor.Whenhegivesmetheokaysign,Ipresstheignitionbuttonandthe
engineroarsintolife.
“Okay,Mrs.Grey,easydoesit!”Taylorshouts.Isqueezetheaccelerator.The
JetSkilurchesforwardthenstalls.Crap!HowdoesChristianmakeitlookso
easy?Itryagain,andonceagain,Istall.Doublecrap!
“Juststeadyonthegas,Mrs.Grey,”Taylorcalls.
“Yeah,yeah,yeah,”Imutterundermybreath.Itryoncemore,verygently
squeezingthelever,andtheJetSkilurchesforward—butthistimeitkeeps
going.Yes!Itgoessomemore.Haha!Itstillkeepsgoing!
Iwanttoshoutandsquealinexcitement,butIresist.Icruisegentlyaway
fromtheyachtintothemainharbor.Behindme,Ihearthethroatyroarofthe
motorlaunch.WhenIsqueezethegasfurther,theJetSkileapsforward,
skatingacrossthewater.Withthewarmbreezeinmyhairandafineseaspray
oneithersideofme,Ifeelfree.Thisrocks!NowonderChristianneverlets
medrive.
Ratherthanheadfortheshoreandcurtailthefun,Iveeraroundtodoacircuit
ofthestatelyFairLady.Wow—thisissomuchfun.IignoreTaylorandthe
crewbehindmeandspeedaroundtheyachtforasecondtime.AsIcomplete
thecircuit,IspotChristianondeck.Ithinkhe’sgapingatme,thoughit’s
difficulttotell.Bravely,Iliftonehandfromthehandlebarsandwave
enthusiasticallyathim.Helookslikehe’smadeofstone,butfinallyheraises
hishandinthesemblanceofastiffwave.Ican’tworkouthisexpression,and
somethingtellsmeIdon’twantto,soIheadtothemarina,speedingacross
thebluewateroftheMediterraneanthatshimmersinthelateafternoonsun.
Atthedock,IwaitandletTaylorpullupaheadofme.Hisexpressionis
bleak,andmyheartsinks,thoughGastonlooksvaguelyamused.Iwonder
brieflyifsomethinghashappenedtochillGallicAmericanrelations,butdeep
downIsuspecttheproblemisprobably58|Page
ELJAMES
me.GastonleapsoutofthemotorboatandtiesittothemooringswhileTaylor
directsmetocomealongside.VerygentlyIeasetheJetSkiintoposition
besidetheboatandlineupbesidehim.Hisexpressionsoftensalittle.
“Justswitchofftheignition,Mrs.Grey,”hesayscalmly,reachingforthe
handlebarsandholdingoutahandtohelpmeintothemotorboat.Inimbly
climbaboard,impressedthatIdon’tfallin.
“Mrs.Grey,”Taylorblinksnervously,hischeekspinkoncemore.
“Mr.GreyisnotentirelycomfortablewithyouridingontheJetSki.”
He’spracticallysquirmingwithembarrassment,andIrealizehe’shadanirate
callfromChristian.Ohmypoor,pathologicallyoverprotectivehusband,what
amIgoingtodowithyou?
IsmileserenelyatTaylor.“Isee.Well,Taylor,Mr.Greyisnothere,andif
he’snotentirelycomfortable,I’msurehe’llgivemethecourtesyoftellingme
himselfwhenI’mbackonboard.”
Taylorwinces.“Verygood,Mrs.Grey,”hesaysquietly,handingmemy
purse.
AsIclimboutoftheboat,Icatchaglimpseofhisreluctantsmile,andit
makesmewanttosmile,too.IcannotbelievehowfondIamofTaylor,butI
reallydon’tappreciatebeingscoldedbyhim—he’snotmyfatherormy
husband.
Crap,Christian’smad—andhehasenoughtoworryaboutatthemoment.
WhatwasIthinking?AsIstandonthedockwaitingforTaylortoclimbup,I
feelmyBlackBerryvibrateinmypurseandfishitout.Sadé’s“YourLoveis
King”ismyringtoneforChristian—onlyforChristian.
“Hi,”Imurmur.
“Hi,”hesays.
“I’llcomebackontheboat.Don’tbemad.”
Ihearhissmallgaspofsurprise.“Um…”
“Itwasfun,though,”Iwhisper.
Hesighs.“Well,farbeitformetocurtailyourfun,Mrs.Grey.Justbecareful.
Please.”
Ohmy!Permissiontohavefun!“Iwill.Anythingyouwantfromtown?”
“Justyou,backinonepiece.”
“I’lldomybesttocomply,Mr.Grey.”
59|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’mgladtohearit,Mrs.Grey.”
“Weaimtoplease,”Irespondwithagiggle.
Ihearhissmileinhisvoice.“Ihaveanothercall—laters,baby.”
“Laters,Christian.”
Hehangsup.JetSkicrisisaverted,Ithink.Thecariswaiting,andTaylor
holdsthedooropenforme.IwinkathimasIclimbin,andheshakeshis
headinamusement.
Inthecar,Ifireupthee-mailonmyBlackBerry.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:ThankYou
Date:August17,201116:55
To:ChristianGrey
Fornotbeingtoogrouchy.
Yourlovingwife
xxx
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:TryingtoStayCalm
Date:August17,201116:59
To:AnastasiaGrey
You’rewelcome.
Comebackinonepiece.
Thisisnotarequest.
x
ChristianGrey
CEO&OverprotectiveHusband,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Hisresponsemakesmesmile.Mycontrolfreak.
60|Page
ELJAMES
WhydidIwanttocomeshopping?Ihateshopping.ButdeepdownIknow
why,andIwalkdeterminedlypastChanel,Gucci,Dior,andtheother
designerboutiquesandeventuallyfindtheantidotetowhatailsmeinasmall,
overstocked,touristystore.It’salittlesilveranklebraceletwithsmallhearts
andlittlebells.Ittinklessweetlyanditcostsfiveeuros.AssoonasI’ve
boughtit,Iputiton.Thisisme—thisiswhatIlike.ImmediatelyIfeelmore
comfortable.Idon’twanttolosetouchwiththegirlwholikesthis,ever.Deep
downIknowthatI’mnotonlyoverwhelmedbyChristianhimselfbutalsoby
hiswealth.WillIevergetusedtoit?
TaylorandGastonfollowmedutifullythroughthelateafternooncrowds,and
Isoonforgettheyarethere.IwanttobuysomethingforChristian,something
totakehismindoffwhat’shappeninginSeattle.ButwhatdoIbuyforthe
manwhohaseverything?Ipauseinasmallmodernsquaresurroundedby
storesandgazeateachoneinturn.WhenIspyanelectronicsstore,ourvisit
tothegalleryearliertodayandourvisittotheLouvrecomebacktome.We
werelookingattheVenusdeMiloatthetime…Christian’swordsechoin
myhead,“Wecanallappreciatethefemaleform.Welovetolookwhetherin
marbleoroilsorsatinorfilm.”
Itgivesmeanidea,adaringidea.Ijustneedhelpchoosingtherightone,and
there’sonlyonepersonwhocanhelpme.IwrestlemyBlackBerryoutofmy
purseandcallJosé.
“Who…?”hemumblessleepily.
“José,it’sAna.”
“Ana?Doyouhaveanyideawhattimeitis?”hesaysgrumpily.Holycrap—
IthoughtIhadabetterhandleonthetimezones.
“Sorry.”
“Whereareyou?Youokay?”Hesoundsmorealertnow,concerned.
“I’minCannesintheSouthofFrance,andI’mfine.”
“SouthofFrance,huh?Youinsomefancyhotel?”
“Um…no.We’restayingonaboat.”
“Aboat?”
“Abigboat.”Iclarify,sighing.
61|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Isee.”Histonechills…Shit,Ishouldnothavecalledhim.Idon’tneedthis
rightnow.
“José,Ineedyouradvice.”
“Myadvice?”Hesoundsstunned.“Sure,”hesays,andthistimehe’smuch
morefriendly.Itellhimmyplan.
Twohourslater,Taylorhelpsmeoutofthemotorlaunchontothestepsupto
thedeck.GastonishelpingthedeckhandwiththeJetSki.Christianis
nowheretobeseen,andIscurrydowntoourcabintowraphispresent,
feelingachildishsenseofdelight.
“Youweregonesometime.”ChristianstartlesmejustasIamapplyingthe
lastpieceoftape.Iturntofindhimstandinginthedoorwaytothecabin,
watchingmeintently.Holyshit!AmIstillintroubleovertheJetSki?Orisit
thefireathisoffice?
“Everythingincontrolatyouroffice?”Iasktentatively.
“Moreorless,”hesays,anannoyedfrownflittingacrosshisface.
“Ididalittleshopping,”Imurmur,hopingtolightenhismood,andpraying
hisannoyanceisnotdirectedatme.Hesmileswarmly,andIknowwe’re
okay.
“Whatdidyoubuy?”
“This,”Iputmyfootuponthebedandshowhimmyanklechain.
“Verynice,”hesays.Hestepsovertomeandfondlesthetinybellssothat
theyjinglesweetlyaroundmyankle.Hefrownsagainatthemarkleftbythe
cuffsandrunshisfingerslightlyalongtheline,sendingtinglesupmyleg.
“Andthis.”Iholdoutthebox,hopingtodistracthim.
“Forme?”heasksinsurprise.Inodshyly.Hetakestheboxandshakesit
gently.Hegrinshisboyish,dazzlingsmileandsitsdownbesidemeonthe
bed.Leaningover,hegraspsmychinandkissesme.
“Thankyou,”hesayswithshydelight.
“Youhaven’topenedityet.”
“I’llloveit,whateveritis.”Hegazesdownatme,hiseyesglowing.
“Idon’tgetmanypresents.”
“It’shardtobuyyouthings.Youhaveeverything.”
“Ihaveyou.”
“Youdo.”Igrinathim.Oh,yousodo,Christian.62|Page
ELJAMES
Hemakesshortworkofthewrappingpaper.“ANikon?”Heglancesupat
me,puzzled.
“Iknowyouhaveyourcompactdigitalcamerabutthisisfor…um…
portraitsandthelike.Itcomeswithtwolenses.”
Heblinksatme,stillnotunderstanding.
“TodayinthegalleryyoulikedtheFlorenceD’ellephotographs.AndI
rememberwhatyousaidintheLouvre.Andofcourse,therewerethoseother
photographs.”Iswallow,tryingmybestnottorecalltheimagesIfoundinhis
closet.
Hestopsbreathing,hiseyeswideningasrealizationdawns,andIcontinue
hurriedlybeforeIlosemynerve.
“Ithoughtyoumight,um…liketotakepicturesof…me.”
“Pictures.Ofyou?”Hegapesatmeignoringtheboxonhislap.Inod,
desperatelytryingtogaugehisreaction.Finallyhegazesbackdownatthe
box,hisfingerstracingovertheillustrationofthecameraonthefrontwith
fascinatedreverence.
Whatishethinking?Oh,thisisnotthereactionIwasexpecting,andmy
subconsciousglaresatmelikeI’madumbdomesticatedfarmanimal.
ChristianneverreactsthewayIexpect.Helooksbackupatme,hiseyes
filledwithwhat,pain?Shit…whatnow?
“WhydoyouthinkIwantthis?”heasks,bemused.
No,no,no!Yousaidyou’dloveit…
“Don’tyou?”Iask,refusingtoacknowledgemysubconsciouswhois
questioningwhyanyonewouldwanteroticphotographsofme.Christian
swallowsandrunsahandthroughhishair,andhelookssolost,soconfused.
Hetakesadeepbreath.
“Forme,photoslikethosehaveusuallybeenaninsurancepolicy,Ana.I
knowI’veobjectifiedwomenforsolong,”hesaysandpausesawkwardly.
What?Wherethefuckisthisgoing?
“Andyouthinktakingpicturesofmeis…um,objectifyingme?
Oh.”Alltheairleavesmybody,andtheblooddrainsfrommyface.He
scrunchesuphiseyes.“Iamsoconfused,”hewhispers.Whenheopenshis
eyesagain,theyarewideandwary,fullofsomerawemotion.
Shit.Whathasbroughtthison—Me?Myquestionsearlierabouthisbirth
mom?Thefireathisoffice?
63|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Whydoyousaythat?”Iwhisper,panicrisinginmythroat.Ithoughthewas
happy.Ithoughtwewerehappy.IthoughtImadehimhappy.Idon’twantto
confusehim.DoI?Mymindstartsracing.What’sbroughtaboutthissea
change?Hehasn’tseenFlynninnearlythreeweeks.Isthatit?Isthatthe
reasonhe’sunraveling?Shit,shouldIcallFlynn?Andinapossiblyunique
momentofextraordinarydepthandclarity,itcomestome—thefire,Charlie
Tango,theJetSki…He’sscared,he’sscaredforme,andseeingthesemarks
onmyskinmustbringthathome.He’sbeenfussingaboutthemallday,
confusinghimselfbecausehe’snotusedtofeelinguncomfortableabout
inflictingpain.Thethoughtchillsme.
Heshrugsandoncemorehiseyesmovedowntomywristwherethebangle
heboughtmethisafternoonusedtobe.Bingo!
“Christian,thesedon’tmatter.”Iholdupmywrist,revealingthefadingwelt.
“Yougavemeasafeword.Shit—yesterdaywasfun.Ienjoyedit.Stop
broodingaboutit—Ilikeroughsex,I’vetoldyouthatbefore.”Iflushscarlet
asItrytoquashmyrisingpanic.Hegazesatmeintently,andIhavenoidea
whathe’sthinking.Maybehe’smeasuringmywords.Istumbleon.
“Isthisaboutthefire?Doyouthinkit’sconnectedsomehowtoCharlie
Tango?Isthiswhyyou’reworried?Talktome,Christian—
please.”
Hestaresatme,sayingnothingandthesilenceexpandsbetweenusagainlike
itdidthisafternoon.Holyfuckingcrap!He’snotgoingtotalktome,Iknow.
“Don’toverthinkthisChristian,”Iscoldquietly,andthewordsecho,
disturbingamemoryfromtherecentpast—hiswordstomeabouthisstupid
contract.Ireachover,taketheboxfromhislap,andopenit.Hewatchesme
passivelyasifI’mafascinatingaliencreature.Knowingthatthecamerais
preppedbytheoverlyhelpfulsalesmaninthestore,andreadytogo,Ifishit
outoftheboxandremovethelenscap.Ipointthecameraathimsohis
beautifulanxiousfacefillstheframe.Ipressthebuttonandkeepitpressed,
andtenpicturesofChristian’salarmedexpressionarecaptureddigitallyfor
posterity.
“I’llobjectifyyouthen,”Imurmur,pressingtheshutteragain.Onthefinal
stillhislipstwitchalmostimperceptibly.Ipressagain,andthistimehesmiles
…asmallsmile,butasmilenevertheless.Ihold64|Page
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downthebuttononcemoreandseehimphysicallyrelaxinfrontofmeand
pout—afull-on,posed,ridiculous,“bluesteel”pout,anditmakesmegiggle.
Oh,thankheavens.Mr.Mercurialisback—andI’veneverbeensopleasedto
seehim.
“Ithoughtitwasmypresent,”hemutterssulkily,butIthinkhe’steasing.
“Well,itwassupposedtobefun,butit’sendedupasasymbolofwomen’s
oppression.”Isnapaway,takingmorepicturesofhim,andwatchthe
amusementgrowonhisfaceinsuperclose-up.Thenhiseyesdarken,andhis
expressionchangestopredatory.
“Youwanttobeoppressed?”hemurmurssilkily.
“Notoppressed.No,”Imurmurback,snappingagain.
“Icouldoppressyoubigtime,Mrs.Grey,”hethreatens,hisvoicehusky.
“Iknowyoucan,Mr.Grey.Andyoudo,frequently.”
Heblinksatmeashisfacefalls.Shit.Ilowerthecameraandstareathim.
“What’swrong,Christian?”Myvoiceoozesfrustration.Tellme!
Hesaysnothing.Gah!He’ssoinfuriating.Iliftthecameratomyeyeagain.
“Tellme,”Iinsist.
“Nothing,”hesaysandabruptlydisappearsfromtheviewfinder.Inoneswift,
smoothmove,hereachesover,sweepsthecameraboxontothecabinfloor,
andgrabsme,pushingmedownontothebed.Hesitsastrideme.
“Hey!”Iexclaimandtakemorephotographsofhim,smilingdownatmewith
darkintent.Hegrabsthecamerabythelens,andthephotographerbecomes
thesubjectashepointstheNikonatmeandpressestheshutterdown.
“So,youwantmetotakepicturesofyou,Mrs.Grey?”hesays,amused.AllI
canseeofhisfaceishisunrulyhairandabroadgrinonhissculpturedmouth.
“Well,forastart,Ithinkyoushouldbelaughing,”hesays,andheticklesme
ruthlesslyundermyribs,makingmesquealandgiggleandsquirmbeneath
himuntilIgrasphiswristinavainattempttomakehimstop.Hisgrin
widens,andherenewshiseffortswhilesnappingpictures.
“No!Stop!”Iscream.
65|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Areyoukidding?”hegrowlsandputsthecameradownbesideussothathe
cantorturemewithbothhands.
“Christian!”Isplutterandgaspmylaughingprotest.Hehasnever,ever
tickledmebefore.Fuck—stop!Ithrashmyheadfromsidetoside,tryingto
wiggleoutfromunderhim,gigglingandpushingbothofhishandsaway,but
he’sunrelenting—grinningdownatme,enjoyingmytorment.
“Christian,stop!”Ipleadandhestopssuddenly.Grabbingbothofmyhands,
heholdsthemdownoneithersideofmyheadwhileloomingoverme.Iam
pantingandbreathlesswithlaughter.Hisbreathingmirrorsmine,andhe
gazesdownatmewith…what?Mylungsstopfunctioning.Wonder?Love?
Reverence?Holycow.Thatlook!
“You.Are.So.Beautiful,”hebreathes.
Istareupathim,athisdear,deardivineface;bathedintheintensityofhis
gaze,andit’sasifhe’sseeingmeforthefirsttime.Leaningdown,hecloses
hiseyesandkissesme,enraptured.Hisresponseisawake-upcalltomy
libido…seeinghimlikethis,undone,byme.Ohmy.Hereleasesmyhands
andcurlshisfingersaroundmyheadandintomyhair,holdingmegentlyin
place,andmybodyrisesandfillswithmyarousal,respondingtohiskiss.
Andsuddenlythenatureofhiskissalters,nolongersweet,reverentialand
admiring,butcarnal,deepanddevouring—histongueinvadingmymouth,
takingnotgiving,hiskisspossessingadesperateneedyedge.Asdesire
coursesthroughmyblood,awakeningeverymuscleandsinewinitswake,I
feelafrissonofalarm.
OhFifty,what’swrong?
Heinhalessharplyandgroans.“Oh,whatyoudotome,”hemurmurs,lost
andraw.Hemovessuddenly,lyingdownontopofme,pressingmeintothe
mattress—onehandcuppingmychin,theotherskimmingovermybody,my
breast,mywaist,myhip,andaroundmybehind.Hekissesmeagain,pushing
hislegbetweenmine,raisingmyknee,andgrindingagainstme,hiserection
strainingagainstourclothesandmysex.Igaspandmoanagainsthislips,
losingmyselftohisferventpassion.Idismissthedistantalarmbellsinthe
backofmymind,knowingthathewantsme,thatheneedsme,andthatwhen
itcomestocommunicatingwithme,thisishisfavoriteformofself66|Page
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expression.Ikisshimwithrenewedabandon,runningmyfingersthroughhis
hair,fistingmyhands,holdingtight.Hetastessogoodandsmellsof
Christian,myChristian.
Abruptly,hestops,standsup,andpullsmeoffthebedsothatIamstandingin
frontofhim,dazed.Heundoesthebuttononmyshortsandkneelsquickly,
yankingthemandmypantiesdown,andbeforeIcanbreatheagain,Iamback
onthebedbeneathhimandhe’sunbuttoninghisfly.Holycow,he’snot
takingoffhisclothesormyT-shirt.Heholdsmyheadandwithnopreamble
whatsoeverhethrustshimselfinsideme,makingmecryout—morein
surprisethananythingelse—
butIcanstillhearthehissofhisbreathforcedthroughhisclenchedteeth.
“Yessss,”hebreathesclosetomyear.Hestills,thenswivelshishipsonce,
pushingdeeper,makingmegroan.
“Ineedyou,”hegrowls,hisvoicelowandhusky.Herunshisteethalongmy
jaw,nippingandsucking,andthenhe’skissingmeagain,hard.Iwrapmy
legsandarmsaroundhim,cradlingandholdinghimhardagainstme,
determinedtowipeoutwhatever’sworryinghim,andhestartstomove…
movelikehe’stryingtoclimbinsideme.Overandover,frantic,primal,
desperate,andbeforeIlosemyselfintheinsanerhythmandpacehe’ssetting,
Ibrieflywonderoncemorewhat’sdrivinghim,worryinghim.Butmybody
takesover,obliteratingthethought,climbingandbuildingsoIamawashwith
sensation,meetinghimthrustforthrust.Listeningtohisharshbreathing,
laboredandfierceatmyear.Knowingthathe’slostinme…Igroanloudly,
panting.It’ssoerotic—hisneed,hisneedforme.Iamreaching…reaching
…andhe’sdrivingmehigher,overwhelmingme,takingme,andIwantthis.
Iwantthissomuch…forhimandforme.
“Comewithme,”hegasps,andherearsupovermesoIhavetobreakmy
holdaroundhim.
“Openyoureyes,”heorders.“Ineedtoseeyou.”Hisvoiceisurgent,
implacable.Myeyesflickeropenmomentarily,andthesightofhimaboveme
—hisfacetautwithardor,hiseyesrawandglowingwithneed.Hispassion
andhisloveismyundoing,andoncueIcome,throwingmyheadbackasmy
bodypulsesaroundhim.
“Oh,Ana,”hecriesandhejoinsmyclimax,drivingintome,thenstillingand
collapsingontome.HerollsoversothatI’msprawledon67|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
topofhim,andhe’sstillinsideme.AsIsurfacefrommyorgasmandmy
bodysteadiesandcalms,Iwanttomakesomequipaboutbeingobjectified
andoppressed,butholdmytongue,uncertainofhismood.Iglanceupfrom
Christian’schesttoexaminehisface.Hiseyesareclosedandhisarmsare
wrappedaroundme,clingingtight.Ikisshischestthroughthethinfabricof
hislinenshirt.
“Tellme,Christian,what’swrong?”Iasksoftlyandwaitanxiouslytoseeif
evennow,satedbysex,he’lltellme.Ifeelhisarmstightenaroundme
further,butit’shisonlyresponse.He’snotgoingtotalk.Inspirationhitsme.
“Igiveyoumysolemnvowtobeyourfaithfulpartnerinsicknessandin
health,tostandbyyoursideingoodtimesandinbad,toshareyourjoyas
wellasyoursorrow,”Imurmur.
Hefreezes.Hisonlymovementistoopenwidehisfathomlesseyesandgaze
atmeasIcontinuemyweddingvows.
“Ipromisetoloveyouunconditionally,tosupportyouinyourgoalsand
dreams,tohonorandrespectyou,tolaughwithyouandcrywithyou,to
sharemyhopesanddreamswithyou,andbringyousolaceintimesofneed.”
Ipause,willinghimtotalktome.Hewatchesme,hislipsparted,butsays
nothing.
“Andtocherishyouforaslongaswebothshalllive.”Isigh.
“Oh,Ana,”hewhispersandmovesagain,breakingourpreciouscontactso
thatwe’relyingsidebyside.Hestrokesmyfacewiththebackofhis
knuckles.
“IsolemnlyvowthatIwillsafeguardandholddearanddeepinmyheartour
unionandyou,”hewhispers,hisvoicehoarse.“Ipromisetoloveyou
faithfully,forsakingallothers,throughthegoodtimesandthebad,insickness
orinhealth,regardlessofwherelifetakesus.Iwillprotectyou,trustyou,and
respectyou.Iwillshareyourjoysandsorrowsandcomfortyouintimesof
need.Ipromisetocherishyouandupholdyourhopesanddreamsandkeep
yousafeatmyside.Allthatismineisnowyours.Igiveyoumyhand,my
heart,andmylovefromthismomentonforaslongaswebothshalllive.”
Tearsspringtomyeyes.Hisfacesoftensashegazesatme.
“Don’tcry,”hemurmurs,histhumbcatchinganddispatchingastraytear.
“Whywon’tyoutalktome?Please,Christian.”
68|Page
ELJAMES
Hecloseshiseyesasifinpain.
“IvowedIwouldbringyousolaceintimesofneed.Pleasedon’tmakeme
breakmyvows.”
Hesighsandopenshiseyes,hisexpressionbleak.“It’sarson,”hesays
simply,andhelookssuddenlysoyoungandvulnerable.Ohfuck.
“Andmybiggestworryisthattheyareafterme.Andiftheyareafterme—”
Hestops,unabletocontinue.
“…Theymightgetme,”Iwhisper.HeblanchesandIknowthatIhave
finallyuncoveredtherootofhisanxiety.Reachingup,Icaresshisface.
“Thankyou,”Imurmur.
Hefrowns.“Whatfor?”
“Fortellingme.”
Heshakeshisheadandaghostofasmiletoucheshislips.“Youcanbevery
persuasive,Mrs.Grey.”
“Andyoucanbroodandinternalizeallyourfeelingsandworryyourselfto
death.You’llprobablydieofaheartattackbeforeyou’reforty,andIwant
youaroundfarlongerthanthat.”
“Mrs.Grey,you’llbethedeathofme.ThesightofyouontheJetSki—I
nearlyhadacoronary.”Heflopsbackonthebedandputshishandoverhis
eyes,andIfeelhimshudder.
“Christian,it’saJetSki.EvenkidsrideJetSkis.Canyouimaginewhatyou’ll
belikewhenwevisityourplaceinAspenandIgoskiingforthefirsttime?”
Hegaspsandturnstofaceme,andIwanttolaughatthehorroronhisface.
“Ourplace,”hesayseventually.
Iignorehim.“I’magrown-up,Christian,andmuchtougherthanIlook.
Whenareyougoingtolearnthis?”
Heshrugsandhismouththins.Idecidetochangethesubject.
“So,thefire.Dothepoliceknowaboutthearson?”
“Yes.”Hisexpressionisserious.
“Good.”
“Securityisgoingtogettighter,”hesaysmatter-of-factly.69|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Iunderstand.”Iglancedownhisbody.He’sstillwearinghisshortsandhis
shirt,andIstillhavemyT-shirton.Jeez—talkaboutwham,bam,thankyou
ma’am.Thethoughtmakesmegiggle.
“What?”Christianasks,bemused.
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yes.You.Stilldressed.”
“Oh.”Heglancesdownathimself,thenbackatme,andhisfaceeruptsinto
anenormoussmile.
“Well,youknowhowharditisformetokeepmyhandsoffyou,Mrs.Grey
—especiallywhenyou’regigglinglikeaschoolgirl.”
Ohyes—thetickling.Gah!Thetickling.ImovequicklysothatI’mstraddling
him,butimmediatelyunderstandingmyevilintent,hegrabsbothofmy
wrists.
“No,”hesaysandhemeansit.
Ipoutathimbutdecidethathe’snotreadyforthis.
“Pleasedon’t,”hewhispers.“Icouldn’tbearit.Iwasnevertickledasa
child.”HepausesandIrelaxmyhandssohedoesn’thavetorestrainme.
“IusedtowatchCarrickwithElliotandMia,ticklingthem,anditlookedlike
suchfun,butI…I…”
Iplacemyindexfingeronhislips.
“Hush,Iknow,”Imurmurandplantasoftkissonhislipswheremyfinger
hasjustbeen,thencurluponhischest.Thefamiliarpainfulacheswells
insideme,andtheprofoundsadnessthatIholdinmyheartforChristianasa
littleboyseizesmeoncemore.IknowIwoulddoanythingforthisman
becauseIlovehimso.
Heputshisarmsaroundmeandpresseshisnoseintomyhair,inhalingdeeply
ashegentlystrokesmyback.Idon’tknowhowlongweliethere,but
eventuallyIbreakthecomfortablesilencebetweenus.
“Whatisthelongestyou’vegonewithoutseeingDr.Flynn?”
“Twoweeks.Why?Doyouhaveanincorrigibleurgetotickleme?”
“No.”Ichuckle.“Ithinkhehelpsyou.”
Christiansnorts.“Heshould;Ipayhimenough.”Hepullsmyhairgently,
turningmyfacetolookupathim.Iliftmyheadandhegazesatme.
“Areyouconcernedformywell-being,Mrs.Grey?”heaskssoftly.70|Pag
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ELJAMES
“Everygoodwifeisconcernedforherbelovedhusband’swellbeing,Mr.
Grey,”Iadmonishhimteasingly.
“Beloved?”hewhispers,andit’sapoignantquestionhangingbetweenus.
“Verymuchbeloved.”Iscootuptokisshim,andhesmileshisshysmile.
“Doyouwanttogoashoretoeat,Mrs.Grey?”
“Iwanttoeatwhereveryou’rehappiest.”
“Good.”Hegrins.“AboarditiswhereIcankeepyousafe.Thankyouformy
present.”Hereachesoverandgrabsthecamera,andholdingitatarm’s
length,hesnapsthetwoofusinourposttickling,postcoital,post
confessionalembrace.
“Thepleasureisallmine,”Ismileandhiseyeslightup.
~o0o~
Wewanderthroughtheopulent,giltsplendoroftheeighteenthcenturyPalace
ofVersailles.Onceahumblehuntinglodge,itwastransformedbytheRoi
Soleilintoamagnificent,lavishseatofpower,butevenbeforetheeighteenth
centuryendeditsawthelastofthoseabsolutemonarchs.
ThemoststunningroombyfaristheHallofMirrors.Theearlyafternoon
lightfloodsthroughwindowstothewest,lightingupthemirrorsthatlinethe
eastwallandilluminatingthegoldleafdécorandtheenormouscrystal
chandeliers.It’sbreathtaking.
“Interestingtoseewhatbecomesofadespoticmegalomaniacwhoisolates
himselfinsuchsplendor,”ImurmurtoChristianashestandsatmyside.He
gazesdownandcockshisheadtooneside,regardingmewithhumor.
“Yourpoint,Mrs.Grey?”
“Oh,merelyanobservation,Mr.Grey.”Iwavemyhandairilyatthe
surroundings.Smirking,hefollowsmetothecenteroftheroomwhereIstand
andgawkattheview—thespectaculargardensreflectedinthelookingglass
andthespectacularChristianGrey,myhusband,reflectedbackatme,his
gazebrightandbold.
“Iwouldbuildthisforyou,”hewhispers.“Justtoseethewaythelight
burnishesyourhair,righthere,rightnow.”Hetucksastrandof71|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
hairbehindmyear.“Youlooklikeanangel.”Hekissesmejustbelowmy
earlobe,takesmyhandinhis,andmurmurs,“Wedespotsdothatforthe
womenwelove.”
Iflushathiscompliment,smilingshyly,andfollowhimthroughthevast
room.
~o0o~
“Whatareyouthinkingabout?”Christianaskssoftly,takingasipofhisafter-
dinnercoffee.
“Versailles.”
“Ostentatious,wasn’tit?”Hegrins.Iglancearoundthemoreunderstated
grandeuroftheFairLady’sdiningroomandpursemylips.
“Thisishardlyostentatious,”Christiansays,ataddefensively.
“Iknow.It’slovely.Thebesthoneymoonagirlcouldwant.”
“Really?”hesays,genuinelysurprised.Andhesmileshisshysmile.
“Ofcourseitis.”
“We’veonlygottwomoredays.Isthereanythingyou’dliketosee?
Anythingyou’dliketodo?”
“Justbewithyou,”Imurmur.Risingfromthetable,hecomesaroundand
kissesmeontheforehead.
“Well,canyoudowithoutmeforaboutanhour?Ineedtocheckmye-mails,
findoutwhat’shappeningathome.”
“Sure,”Isaybrightly,tryingtohidemydisappointmentthatI’llbewithout
himforanhour.IsitfreakythatIwanttobewithhimallthetime?My
subconsciouspressesherlipsintoanarrow,unattractivelineandnods
vigorously.
“Thankyouforthecamera,”hemurmursandheadsforthestudy.
BackinourcabinIdecidetocatchuponmycorrespondenceandopenmy
laptop.Therearee-mailsfrommymomandfromKate,givingmethelatest
gossipfromhomeandaskinghowthehoneymoonisgoing.Well,great,until
someonedecidedtoburndownGEHInc….AsIfinishmyresponsetomy
mom,ane-mailfromKatehitsmyinbox.
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ELJAMES
From:KatherineL.Kavanagh
Date:August17,201111:45PST
To:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:OMG!!!!
Ana,justheardaboutthefireatChristian’soffice.Doyouthinkit’sarson?
Kxox
Roseisonline!Ijumpontomynewfoundtoy—Skypemessaging—
andseethatshe’savailable.Iquicklytypeamessage.
Ana:Heyareyouthere?
Kate:YES,Ana!Howareyou?How’sthehoneymoon?Didyouseemye-
mail?DoesChristianknowaboutthefire?
Ana:I’mgood.Honeymoon’sgreat.Yes,Isawyoure-mail.Yes,
Christianknows.
Kate:Ithoughthewould.Newsissketchyonwhathappened.AndElliot
won’ttellmeanything.L
Ana:Areyoufishingforastory?
Kate:Youknowmetoowell.
Ana:Christianhasn’ttoldmemuch.
Kate:ElliotheardfromGrace!
Ohno—I’msureChristiandoesn’twantthisbroadcastalloverSeattle.Itry
mypatenteddistract-tenacious-Kavanaghtechnique.Ana:HowareElliot
andEthan?
Kate:EthanhasbeenacceptedintothepsychcourseatSeattleforhis
master’sdegree.Elliotisadorable.Ana:Waytogo,Ethan.
Kate:How’sourfavoriteex-dom?
Ana:Kate!
Kate:What?
Ana:YOUKNOWWHAT!
Kate:K.Sorry
73|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ana:He’sfine.Morethanfine.J
Kate:Well,aslongasyou’rehappy,I’mhappy.
Ana:I’mblissfullyhappy.
Kate:JIhavetorun.Canwetalklater?
Ana:Notsure.SeeifIamonline.Timezonessuck!
Kate:Theydo.Loveyou,Ana.
Ana:Loveyou,too.Laters.x
Kate:Laters.<3
TrustKatetobeonthetrailofthisstory.IrollmyeyesandshutSkypedown
beforeChristianseesthechat.Hewouldn’tappreciatetheex-Domcomment
—andI’mnotsurehe’sentirelyex…Isighloudly.Kateknowseverything,
sinceourtipsyeveningthreeweeksbeforetheweddingwhenIfinally
succumbedtotheKavanaghinquisition.Itwasarelieftofinallytalkto
someone.Iglanceatmywatch.It’sbeenaboutanhoursincedinner,andIam
missingmyhusband.Iheadbackondecktoseeifhe’sfinishedhiswork.
~o0o~
IamintheHallofMirrorsandChristianisstandingbesideme,smilingdown
atmewithloveandaffection.Youlooklikeanangel.Ibeambackathim,but
whenIglanceintothelookingglassI’mstandingonmyownandtheroomis
grayanddrab.No!Myheadwhipsbacktohisface,tofindhissmileissad
andwistful.Reachingup,hetucksmyhairbehindmyear.Thenheturns
wordlesslyandwalksawayslowly,thesoundofhisfootstepsechoingoffthe
mirrorsashepacestheenormousroomtotheornatedoubledoorsattheend
…amanonhisown,amanwithnoreflection…andIwake,gaspingforair,
aspanicseizesme.
“Hey,”hewhispersfrombesidemeinthedarkness,hisvoicefilledwith
concern.
Oh,he’shere.He’ssafe.Reliefcoursesthroughme.
“Oh,Christian,”Imumble,tryingtobringmypoundingheartbeatunder
control.Hewrapsmeinhisarms,andit’sonlythenthatIrealizeIhavetears
streamingdownmyface.
“Ana,whatisit?”Hestrokesmycheek,wipingawaymytears,and74|Pag
e
ELJAMES
Icanhearhisanguish.
“Nothing.Asillynightmare.”
Hekissesmyforeheadandmytearstainedcheeks,comfortingme.
“Justabaddream,baby,”hemurmurs.“I’vegotyou.I’llkeepyousafe.”
Drinkinginhisscent,Icurlaroundhim,tryingtoignorethelossand
devastationIfeltinmydream,andinthatmoment,Iknowthatmydeepest,
darkestfearwouldbelosinghim.
75|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChapterFive
Istir,instinctivelyreachingovertoChristian’ssideofthebedonlytofeelhis
absence.Shit!Iwakeinstantlyandlookanxiouslyaroundthecabin.Christian
iswatchingmefromthesmall,upholsteredarmchairbythebed.Stooping
down,heplacessomethingonthefloor,thenmovesandstretchesoutonthe
bedbesideme.He’sdressedinhiscutoffsandagrayT-shirt.
“Hey,don’tpanic.Everything’sfine,”hesays,hisvoicegentleandsoothing
—likehe’stalkingtoacorneredwildanimal.Tenderly,hesmoothsthehair
backfrommyfaceandIcalmimmediately.Iseehimtryingandfailingto
hidehisownconcern.
“You’vebeensojumpytheselastcoupleofdays,”hemurmurs,hiseyeswide
andserious.
“I’mokay,Christian.”IgivehimmybrightestsmilebecauseIdon’twanthim
toknowhowworriedIamaboutthearsonincident.Thepainfulrecollection
ofhowIfeltwhenCharlieTangowassabotagedandChristianwentmissing
—thehollowemptiness,theindescribablepain—keepsresurfacing;the
memorynaggingmeandgnawingatmyheart.Keepingthesmilefixedonmy
face,Itrytorepressit.
“Wereyouwatchingmesleep?”
“Yes,”hesaysgazingatmesteadily,studyingme.“Youweretalking.”
“Oh?”Shit!WhatwasIsaying?
“You’reworried,”headds,hiseyesfilledwithconcern.Iblinkathim.Is
therenothingIcankeepfromthisman?Heleansforwardandkissesme
betweenmybrows.
“Whenyoufrown,alittleVformsjusthere.It’ssofttokiss.Don’tworry
baby,I’lllookafteryou.”
“It’snotmeI’mworriedabout—it’syou,”Igrumble.“Who’slookingafter
you?”
Hesmilesindulgentlyatmytone.“I’mbigenoughanduglyenoughtolook
aftermyself.Come.Getup.There’sonethingI’dliketodo76|Page
ELJAMES
beforeweheadhome.”Hegrinsatme,abigboyishyes-I’m-reallyonly-
twenty-eightgrin,andswatsmybehind.Iyelp,startled,andrealizethattoday
we’regoingbacktoSeattleandmymelancholyblossoms.Idon’twantto
leave.I’verelishedbeingwithhim24-7,andI’mnotreadytosharehimwith
hiscompanyandhisfamily.We’vehadablissfulhoneymoon.Withafewups
anddowns,Iadmit,butthat’snormalforanewlymarriedcouple,surely?
ButChristiancannotcontainhisboyishexcitement,anddespitemydark
thoughts,it’sinfectious.Whenherisesgracefullyoffthebed,Ifollow,
intrigued.Whathashegotinmind?
Christianstrapsthekeytomywrist.
“Youwantmetodrive?”
“Yes.”Christiangrins.“That’snottootight?”
“It’sfine.Isthatwhyyou’rewearingalifejacket?”Iarchmyeyebrow.
“Yes.”
Ican’thelpmygiggle.“Suchconfidenceinmydrivingcapabilities,Mr.
Grey.”
“Asever,Mrs.Grey.”
“Well,don’tlectureme.”
Christianholdshishandsupinadefensivegesture,buthe’ssmiling.
“WouldIdare?”
“Yesyouwould,andyesyoudo,andwecan’tpulloverandargueonthe
sidewalkhere.”
“Fairpointwellmade,Mrs.Grey.Arewegoingtostandonthisplatformall
daydebatingyourdrivingskills,orarewegoingtohavesomefun?”
“Fairpointwellmade,Mr.Grey.”IgraspthehandlebarsoftheJetSkiand
clamberon.Christianclimbsonbehindmeandkicksusawayfromtheyacht.
Taylorandtwoofthedeckhandslookoninamusement.Slidingforward,
Christianwrapshisarmsaroundmeandsnuggleshisthighsagainstmine.Yes,
thisiswhatIlikeaboutthisformoftransport.Iinsertintheignitionkeyand
pushthestartbutton,andtheengineroarsintolife.
“Ready?”IshouttoChristianoverthenoise.
77|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“AsI’lleverbe,”hesays,hismouthclosetomyear.Gently,Ipullonthe
leverandtheJetSkimovesawayfromtheFairLady,fartoosedatelyformy
liking.Christiantightenshisembrace.Ipullonthegassomemore,andwe
shootforwardandI’mdelightedwhenwedon’tstall.
“Whoa!”Christiancallsfrombehind,buttheexhilarationinhisvoiceis
palpable.IspeedpasttheFairLadytowardtheopensea.We’reanchored
outsidethePortdePlaisancedeSaint-Claude-du-Var,Niceairportnestlingin
thedistance,builtintotheMediterranean,orsoitseems.I’veheardtheodd
planelandingsincewearrivedlastnight.Idecideweneedtotakeacloser
look.
Weshoottowardit,skippingrapidlyoverthewaves.Ilovethis,andI’m
thrilledChristian’slettingmedrive.AlltheworryI’vefeltoverthepasttwo
daysmeltsawayasweskimtowardtheairport.
“Nexttimewedothiswe’llhavetwoJetSkis,”Christianshouts.Igrin—the
thoughtofracinghimisthrilling.
Aswezoomoverthecoolblueseatowardwhatlooksliketheendofthe
runway,thethunderingroarofajetoverheadsuddenlystartlesmeasitcomes
intoland.It’ssoloudIpanic,swervingandhittingthethrottleatthesame
time,mistakingitforabrake.
“Ana!”Christianshouts,butit’stoolate.I’mcatapultedoffthesideoftheJet
Ski,armsandlegsflailing,takingChristianwithmeinaspectacularsplash.
Screaming,Iplungeintothecrystalblueseaandswallowanastymouthfulof
theMediterranean.Thewateriscoldthisfarfromtheshore,butIsurface
withinasplitsecond,courtesyofmylifejacket.Coughingandspluttering,I
wipetheseawaterfrommyeyesandlookaroundforChristian.He’salready
swimmingtowardme.TheJetSkifloatsinoffensivelyafewfeetawayfrom
us,itsenginesilent.
“Youokay?”Hiseyesarefullofpanic,ashereachesme.
“Yes,”Icroak,butIcannotcontainmyelation.See,Christian?
That’stheworstthatcanhappenonaJetSki!Hepullsmeintohisembrace,
thengrabsmyheadbetweenhishands,examiningmyfaceclosely.
“See,thatwasn’tsobad!”Igrinaswetreadwater.Eventuallyhesmirksat
me,obviouslyrelieved.“No,Iguessitwasn’t.ExceptI’mwet,”hegrumbles,
buthistoneisplayful.78|Page
ELJAMES
“I’mwet,too.”
“Ilikeyouwet.”Heleers.
“Christian!”Iscold,tryingforfauxrighteousindignation.Hegrins,looking
gorgeous,thenleansinandkissesmehard.Whenhepullsaway,I’m
breathless.Hiseyesaredarker,hoodedandheated,andI’mwarminspiteof
thecoldwater.
“Come.Let’sheadback.Nowwehavetoshower.I’lldrive.”
~o0o~
WelazeintheBritishAirwaysfirstclassloungeatHeathrowinLondon,
waitingforourconnectingflighttoSeattle.Christianisengrossedinthe
FinancialTimes.Ireachoverforhiscamera,wantingtotakesome
photographsofhim.Helookssosexyinhistrademarkwhitelinenshirtand
jeans,andhisaviatorspecstuckedintotheVofhisopenshirt.Theflash
disturbshim.Heblinksupatmeandsmileshisshysmile.
“Howareyou,Mrs.Grey?”heasks.
“Sadtobegoinghome,”Imurmur.“Ilikehavingyoutomyself.”
Hereachesoutandclaspsmyhand.Liftingittohislips,hegrazesmy
knuckleswithasweetkiss.“Metoo.”
“But?”Iask,hearingthatsmallwordunsaidattheendofhissimple
statement.
Hefrowns.“But?”herepeatsdisingenuously.Itiltmyheadtooneside,
gazingathimwiththetellmeexpressionIhavebeenperfectingoverthelast
coupleofdays.Hesighs,puttinghisnewspaperdown.“Iwantthisarsonist
caughtandoutofourlives.”
“Oh.”Thatseemsfairenough,butI’msurprisedbyhisbluntness.
“I’llhaveWelch’sballsonaplatterifheletsanythinglikethathappenagain.”
Ashiverrunsdownmyspineathismenacingtone.Hegazesatme
impassively,andIdon’tknowifhe’sdaringmetobeflippantorwhat.Ido
theonlythingIcanthinkoftoeasethesuddentensionbetweenusandraise
thecameraandsnapanotherphotograph.
~o0o~
“Hey,sleepyhead,we’rehome,”Christianmurmurs.
79|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Hmm,”Imumble,reluctanttoleavemytantalizingdreamofChristianand
meonapicnicblanketatKewGardens.Iamsotired.Travellingis
exhausting,eveninfirstclass.We’vebeenupforeighteenormorehours
straight,Ithink—inmyfatigueI’velosttrack.Ihearmydooropen,and
Christianisleaningoverme.Heunbucklesmyseatbeltandliftsmeintohis
arms,wakingme.
“Hey,Icanwalk,”Iprotestsleepily.
Hesnorts.“Ineedtocarryyouoverthethreshold.”
Iputmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Upallthirtyfloors?”Igivehima
challengingsmile.
“Mrs.Grey,Iamverypleasedtoannouncethatyou’veputonsomeweight.”
“What?”
Hegrins.“Soifyoudon’tmind,we’llusetheelevator.”Henarrowshiseyes
atme,thoughIknowhe’steasing.
TayloropensthedoorstotheEscalalobbyandsmiles.“WelcomehomeMr.
Grey,Mrs.Grey.”
“Thanks,Taylor,”saysChristian.
IgiveTaylorthebriefestofsmilesandwatchhimheadbacktotheAudi
whereSawyerwaitsatthewheel.
“WhatdoyoumeanI’veputonweight?”IglareatChristian.Hisgrin
broadens,andheclaspsmeclosertohischestashecarriesmeacrossthe
lobby.
“Notmuch,”heassuresmebuthisfacedarkenssuddenly.Ohno…what
now?
“Whatisit?”Ibreathe,tryingtocontrolthealarmIhearinmyownvoice.
“You’veputonsomeoftheweightyoulostwhenyouleftme,”heexplains
quietlyashesummonstheelevator.Ableakexpressioncrosseshisface.
No!Hissudden,surprisinganguishtugsatmyheart.
“Hey.”Icurlmyfingersaroundhisfaceandintohishair,pullinghimtoward
me.Hecomeswillingly.“IfIhadn’tgone,wouldyoubestandinghere,like
this,now?”Iwhisper.Hiseyesmelt,thecolorofastormcloud,andhesmiles
hisshysmile,myfavoritesmile.
“No,”hesaysquietlyandstepsintotheelevatorstillholdingme.Heleans
downandkissesmegently.“No,Mrs.Grey,Iwouldn’t.ButI80|Page
ELJAMES
wouldknowIcouldkeepyousafe,becauseyouwouldn’tdefyme.”
Hesoundsvaguelyregretful…Shit.
“Ilikedefyingyou.”Itestthewaters.
“Iknow.Andit’smademeso…happy.”Hesmilesdownatmethroughhis
bemusement.
Oh,thankheavens.“EventhoughI’mfat?”Iwhisper.Helaughs.“Even
thoughyou’refat.”Hekissesmeagain,moreheatedthistime,andIfistmy
fingersinhishair,holdinghimagainstme,ourtonguestwistinginaslow
sensualdancewitheachother.Whentheelevatorpingstoahaltatthe
penthouse,wearebothbreathless.
“Veryhappy,”hemurmurs.Hissmileisdarkernow,hiseyeshoodedandfull
ofsalaciouspromise.Heshakeshisheadasiftorecoverhimselfand,turning
withmeinhisarms,walksintothefoyer.
“Welcomehome,Mrs.Grey.”Hekissesmeagain,morechastelythistime,
andgivesmethefull-gigawatt-patented-Christian-Greysmile,hiseyes
dancingwithjoy.
“Welcomehome,Mr.Grey.”Ibeamupathim,myheartansweringhiscall,
brimmingwithmyownjoy.
IthinkChristian’sgoingtoputmedown,buthedoesn’t.Hecarriesme
throughthefoyer,acrossthecorridorandintothegreatroom,anddeposits
meonthekitchenislandwhereIsitwithmylegsdangling.Heretrievestwo
champagneflutesfromthekitchencupboardandabottleofchilled
champagnefromthefridge—ourfavoriteBollinger.Hedeftlyopensthe
bottle,notspillingadropandpoursthepalepinkchampagneintoeachglass
andhandsonetome.Takinguptheother,hegentlypartsmylegsandmoves
forwardtostandbetweenthem.
“Here’stous,Mrs.Grey.”
“Tous,Mr.Grey,”Iwhisperconsciousofmyshysmile.Weclinkglassesand
takeasip.
“Iknowyou’retired,”hewhispers,rubbinghisnoseagainstmine.
“ButI’dreallyliketogotobed,andnottosleep.”Hekissesthecornerofmy
mouth.“It’sourfirstnightbackhere,andyou’rereallymine.”
Hisvoicedriftsoffasheplantssoftkissesdownmythroat.It’sonlyearly
eveninginSeattle,andIamdog-tired,butdesirebloomsdeepinmybellyand
myinnergoddesspurrs.
81|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChristianisslumberingpeacefullybesidemeasIstareatthepinkandgolden
streaksofthenewdawnthroughthevastwindows.Hisarmisdrapedloosely
overmybreasts,andItrytomatchhisbreathinginanefforttogetbackto
sleep,butit’shopeless.I’mwideawake,mybodyclockonGreenwichmean
time,mymindracing.
Somuchhashappenedinthelastthreeweeks—whoamIkidding,thelast
threemonths—Ifeelthatmyfeethaven’ttouchedtheground.AndnowhereI
am,AnaSteele—Mrs.AnastasiaGrey—marriedtothemostdelicious,sexy,
philanthropic,absurdlywealthymogulawomancouldmeet.Howdidthisall
happensofast?
Ishiftontomysidetogazeathim,appraisinghisbeauty.Iknowhewatches
mesleep,butIrarelygettheopportunitytorepaythecompliment.Helooks
soyoungandcarefreeinhissleep,hislonglashesfannedagainsthischeek,a
lightsmatteringofstubblecoveringhisjaw,andhissculpturedlipsslightly
parted,relaxedashebreathesdeeply.Iwanttokisshim,topushmytongue
betweenhislips,runmyfingersoverhissoftyetpricklystubble.Ireallyhave
tofighttheurgenottotouchhim,nottodisturbhim.Hmm…Icouldjust
teasehisearlobewithmyteethandsuck.Mysubconsciousglaresupatme
overherhalf-moonspectacles,distractedfromvolumetwooftheComplete
WorksofCharlesDickens,andmentallychastisesme.Leavethepoorman
alone,Ana.
IambacktoworkonMonday.Wehavetodaytoreacclimatize,thenwe’re
backintoourroutine.ItwillbeoddnotseeingChristianforawholedayafter
spendingalmosteveryminutetogetherforthelastthreeweeks.Iliebackand
stareattheceiling.Onewouldthinkthatspendingsomuchtimetogether
wouldbesuffocating,butthat’sjustnotthecase.I’velovedeachandevery
minute,evenourfighting.Everyminute…exceptthenewsofthefireat
GreyHouse.
Mybloodchills.WhocouldwanttoharmChristian?Mymindgnawsatthis
mysteryagain.Someoneinhisbusiness?Anex?Adisgruntledemployee?I
havenoidea,andChristianremainstightlippedaboutitall,drip-feedingme
theminimuminformationhecangetawaywithinabidtoprotectme.Isigh.
Myshiningwhite-and-darkknightalwaystryingtoprotectme.WhatamI
goingtodowithhimtomakehimopenupmore?
82|Page
ELJAMES
HestirsandIstill,notwantingtowakehim,butithastheoppositeeffect.
Damn!Twobrighteyesgazeatme,blinking.
“What’swrong?”
“Nothing.Gobacktosleep.”Itrymyreassuringsmile.Hestretches,rubshis
face,andthengrinsatme.
“Jetlag?”heasks.
“Isthatwhatthisis?Ican’tsleep.”
“Ihavetheuniversalpanacearighthere,justforyou,baby.”Hegrinslikea
schoolboy,makingmerollmyeyesandgiggleatthesametime.Andjustlike
thatmydarkthoughtsaresweptasideandmyteethfindhisearlobe.
ChristianandIcruisenorthontheI-5towardthe520bridgeintheAudiR8.
Wearegoingtohavelunchathisparents’,awelcome-homeSundaylunch.
Allthefamilywillbethere,plusKateandEthan.Itwillbestrangetobeinso
muchcompanywhenwe’vebeenonourownallthistime.Ihaven’thadan
opportunitytotalktoChristianmostofthemorning—hewasholedupinhis
studywhileIunpacked.HesaidIdidn’thaveto,thatMrs.Joneswoulddoit.
Butthat’ssomethingelseIneedtogetusedto—havingdomestichelp.Irun
myfingersabsentmindedlyovertheleatherupholsteryofthedoortodistract
mywanderingthoughts.Ifeeloutofsorts.Isitthejetlag?Thearson?
“Wouldyouletmedrivethis?”Iask,surprisedthatIsaythewordsoutloud.
“Ofcourse,”Christianreplies,smiling.“What’smineisyours.Ifyoudentit,
though,IwilltakeyouintotheRedRoomofPain.”Heglancesswiftlyatme
withamaliciousgrin.
Shit!Igapeathim.Isthisajoke?
“You’rekidding.You’dpunishmefordentingyourcar?Youloveyourcar
morethanyouloveme?”Itease.
“It’sclose,”hesaysandreachesacrosstosqueezemyknee.“Butshedoesn’t
keepmewarmatnight.”
“I’msureitcouldbearranged.Youcouldsleepinher,”Isnap.Christian
laughs.“Wehaven’tbeenhomeonedayandyou’rekickingmeoutalready?”
Heseemsdelighted.Igazeathimandhegivesmeaface-splittinggrin,and
althoughIwanttobemadathim,83|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
it’simpossiblewhenhe’sinthiskindofmood.NowthatIthinkaboutit,he’s
beeninabetterframeofmindeversincehelefthisstudythismorning.Andit
dawnsonmethatI’mbeingpetulantbecausewehavetogobacktoreality,
andIdon’tknowifhe’sgoingtoreverttothemoreclosedpre-honeymoon
Christian,orifI’llgettokeepthenewimprovedversion.
“Whyareyousopleased?”Iask.
Heflashesyetanothergrinatme.“Becausethisconversationisso…
normal.”
“Normal!”Isnort.“Notafterthreeweeksofmarriage!Surely.”
Hissmileslips.
“I’mkidding,Christian,”Imutterquickly,notwantingtokillhismood.It
strikesmehowunsureheisofhimselfsometimes.Isuspectthathe’salways
beenlikethis,buthasjusthiddenhisuncertaintybeneathanintimidating
exterior.He’sveryeasytotease,probablybecausehe’snotusedtoit.It’sa
revelation,andImarvelagainthatwestillhavesomuchtolearnabouteach
other.
“Don’tworry,I’llsticktotheSaab,”Imutterandturntostareoutofthe
window,tryingtoshakeoffmybadmood.
“Hey.What’swrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You’resofrustratingsometimes,Ana.Tellme.”
Iturnandsmirkathim.“Backatyou,Grey.”
Hefrowns.“I’mtrying,”hesayssoftly.
“Iknow.Metoo.”Ismileandmymoodbrightensalittle.
Carricklooksridiculousinhischef’shatandLicensedtoGrillapronashe
standsatthebarbecue.EverytimeIlookathim,itmakesmesmile.Infact,
myspiritshaveliftedconsiderably.Weareallsittingaroundthetableonthe
terraceoftheGreyfamilyhome,enjoyingthelatesummersun.Graceand
Miaaresettingvarioussaladsoutonthetable,whileElliotandChristian
tradefriendlyinsultsanddiscussplansforthenewhouse,andEthanandKate
grillmeaboutourhoneymoon.Christiankeepsholdofmyhand,hisfingers
toyingwithmyweddingandengagementrings.
“SoifyoucangettheplansfinalizedwithGia,Ihaveawindow84|Page
ELJAMES
Septemberthroughtomid-Novemberandcangetthewholecrewonit,”
ElliotsaysashestretchesanddropsanarmaroundKate’sshoulder,making
hersmile.
“Giaisduetocomeovertodiscusstheplanstomorrowevening,”
repliesChristian.“Ihopewecanfinalizeeverythingthen.”Heturnsandlooks
expectantlyatme.
Oh…thisisnews.
“Sure.”Ismileathim,mostlyforthebenefitofhisfamily,butmyspiritstake
anosediveagain.Whydoeshemakethesedecisionswithouttellingme?Oris
itthethoughtofGia—alllushhipsandfullbreastsandexpensivedesigner
clothesandperfume—smilingtooprovocativelyatmyhusband?My
subconsciousglaresatme.He’sgivenyounoreasontobejealous.Shit,Iam
upanddowntoday.What’swrongwithme?
“Ana,”Kateexclaims,snappingmeoutofmyreverie.“YoustillintheSouth
ofFrance?”
“Yes,”Ireplywithasmile.
“Youlooksowell,”shesays,thoughshefrownsasshesaysit.
“Youbothdo.”GracebeamswhileElliotrefillsourglasses.
“Tothehappycouple.”Carrickgrinsandraiseshisglass,andeveryone
aroundthetableechoesthesentiment.
“AndcongratulationstoEthanforgettingintothepsychprogramatSeattle,”
chipsinMiaproudly.ShegiveshimanadoringsmileandEthansmirksather.
Iwonderidlyifshe’smadeanyheadwaywithhim.It’sdifficulttotell.
Ilistentothebanteraroundthetable.Christianisrunningthroughour
extensiveitineraryoverthelastthreeweeks,embellishinghereandthere.He
soundsrelaxedandincontrol,theworryofthearsonistforgotten.I,onthe
otherhand,don’tseemtobeabletoshakemymood.Ipickatmyfood.
ChristiansaidIwasfatyesterday.Hewasjoking!Mysubconsciousglaresat
meagain.Elliotaccidentallyknockshisglassontotheterrace,startling
everyone,andthere’sasuddenflurryofactivitytogetitcleanedup.
“Iamgoingtotakeyoutotheboathouseandfinallyspankyouinthereifyou
don’tsnapoutofthismood,”Christianwhisperstome.Igaspwithshock,
turn,andgapeathim.What?Isheteasingme?
“Youwouldn’tdare!”IgrowlathimandfromdeepinsideIfeela85|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
familiar,welcomeexcitement.Hecocksaneyebrowatme.Ofcoursehe
would.IglancequicklyatKateacrossthetable.She’swatchinguswith
interest.IturnbacktoChristian,narrowingmyeyesathim.
“You’dhavetocatchmefirst—andI’mwearingflats,”Ihiss.
“I’dhavefuntrying,”hewhisperswithalicentiousgrin,andIthinkhe’s
joking.
Iflush.Confusingly,Ifeelbetter.
Aswefinishourdessertofstrawberriesandcream,theheavensopenand
unexpectedlysoakus.Weallleapuptocleartheplatesandglassesfromthe
table,depositingtheminthekitchen.
“Goodthingtheweatherheldofftillwefinished,”Gracesayspleased,aswe
driftintothebackroomden.Christiansitsdownattheshiningblackupright
piano,pressesthequietpedal,andstartstoplayafamiliartunethatIcan’t
immediatelyplace.
GraceasksmeformyimpressionsofSaintPauldeVence.SheandCarrick
wentyearsagoduringtheirhoneymoon,anditoccurstomethatthisisagood
omen,seeinghowhappytheyaretogethernow.KateandElliotarecuddling
ononeofthelargeoverstuffedcouches,whileEthan,Mia,andCarrickare
deepinaconversationaboutpsychology,Ithink.
Suddenly,asone,alltheGreysstoptalkingandgapeatChristian.What?
Christianissingingsoftlytohimselfatthepiano.Silencedescendsonusall
aswestraintohearhissoft,lyricalvoice.I’veheardhimsingbefore,haven’t
they?Hestops,suddenlyconsciousofthedeathlyhushthat’sfallenoverthe
room.KateglancesquestioninglyatmeandIshrug.Christianturnsonthe
stoolandfrowns,embarrassedtorealizehe’sbecomethecenterofattention.
“Goon,”Graceurgessoftly.“I’veneverheardyousing,Christian.Ever.”She
staresathiminwonder.Hesitsonthepianostoolblinkingabsentlyather,
andafterabeat,heshrugs.Hiseyesflickernervouslytome,thenovertothe
Frenchwindows.Therestoftheroomsuddenlyeruptsinself-conscious
chatter,andI’mleftwatchingmydearhusband.
Gracedistractsme,graspingmyhandsthensuddenlyfoldingmeinherarms.
“Oh,darlinggirl!Thankyou,thankyou,”shewhispers,soonlyI86|Page
ELJAMES
canhear.Itbringsalumptomythroat.
“Um…”Ihugherback,notreallysurewhyIambeingthanked.Grace
smiles,hereyesshining,andkissesmycheek.Ohmy…WhathaveIdone?
“Iamgoingtomakesometea,”shesays,hervoicehoarsewithunshedtears.
IambleovertoChristianwhoisnowstandingstaringoutthroughtheFrench
windows.
“Hi,”Imurmur.
“Hi.”Heputshisarmaroundmywaist,pullingmetohim,andIslipmyhand
intothebackpocketofhisjeans.Wegazeoutattherain.
“Feelingbetter?”
Inod.
“Good.”
“Youcertainlyknowhowtosilencearoom.”
“Idoitallthetime,”hesaysandhegrinsatme.
“Atwork,yes,butnothere.”
“True,nothere.”
“Noone’severheardyousing?Ever?”
“Itappearsnot,”hesaysdryly.“Shallwego?”
Igazeupathim,tryingtogaugehismood.Hiseyesaresoftandwarmand
slightlybemused.Idecidetochangethesubject.
“Yougoingtospankme?”Iwhisper,andsuddenlytherearebutterfliesinmy
stomach.PerhapsthisiswhatIneed…thisiswhatIhavebeenmissing.
Hegazesdownatme,hiseyesdarkening.
“Idon’twanttohurtyou,butI’mmorethanhappytoplay.”
“Oh.”Iglancenervouslyaroundthelargeroom,butweareoutofearshot.
“Onlyifyoumisbehave,Mrs.Grey.”Hebendsandmurmursinmyear.
Howcanheputsomuchsensualpromiseintosixwords?
“I’llseewhatIcando.”Igrin.
Oncewe’vesaidourgoodbyes,wewalkovertothecar.
“Here.”ChristianthrowsmethekeystotheR8.“Don’tbendit”—
87|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
headdsinallseriousness—“orIwillbefuckingpissed.”
Mymouthgoesdry.He’slettingmedrivehiscar?Myinnergoddesswhipson
herleatherdrivingglovesandflatshoes.Ohyes!shecries.
“Areyousure?”Imouth,stunned.
“Yes,beforeIchangemymind.”
Idon’tthinkIhaveevergrinnedsohard.Herollshiseyesandopensthe
driver’sdoorsothatIcanclimbin.Istarttheenginebeforehe’sevenreached
thepassengerside,andhejumpsinquickly.
“Eager,Mrs.Grey?”heaskswithawrysmile.
“Very.”
Slowly,Ieasethecarbackwardandturnitinthedriveway.Imanagenotto
stallit,surprisingmyself.Boy,istheclutchsensitive.Carefullynavigatingthe
driveway,IglanceinmyrearviewmirrortoseeSawyerandRyan—our
securityfortheday—climbintotheAudiSUV.Ihadnoideathatthey’d
followedushere.IpausebeforeIsetoutontothemainroad.
“You’resureaboutthis?”
“Yes,”Christiansaystightly,tellingmehe’snotsureaboutthisatall.Oh,my
poor,poorFifty.Iwanttolaugh,atbothhimandmyself,becauseI’mnervous
andexcited.AsmallpartofmewantstoloseSawyerandRyan,justforthe
kicks.IcheckfortraffictheninchtheR8
outontotheroad.ChristiancurlsupwithtensionandIcan’tresist.Theroad
isclear.Iputmyfootdownonthegasandweshootforward.
“Whoa!Ana!”Christianshouts.“Slowdown—you’llkillusboth.”
Iimmediatelyeaseoffthegas.Wow,canthiscarmove!
“Sorry,”Imutter,tryingtosoundcontriteandfailingmiserably.Christian
smirksatme,tohidehisrelief,Ithink.
“Well,thatcountsasmisbehaving,”hesayscasuallyandIslowrightdown.
Iglanceintherearviewmirror.NosignoftheAudi,justasolitarydarkcar
withtintedwindowsbehindus.IimagineSawyerandRyanflustered,frantic
tocatchup,andforsomereasonthisgivesmeathrill.Butnotwantingtogive
mydearhusbandacoronary,Idecidetobehaveanddrivesteadily,with
growingconfidence,towardthe520
bridge.
Suddenly,ChristianswearsandstrugglestopullhisBlackBerry88|Page
ELJAMES
fromthepocketofhisjeans.
“What?”hesnapsangrilyatwhoeveritisontheotherendoftheline.“No.”
hesaysandglancesbehindus.“Yes.Sheis.”
What?Brieflycheckingtherearviewmirror,Ican’tseeanythingodd—there
arejustafewcarsbehindus.TheSUVisaboutfourcarsbackandwe’reall
cruisingatanevenpace.
“Isee.”Christiansighslongandhardandrubshisforeheadwithhisfingers,
tensionradiatesoffhim.Something’swrong.
“Yes…Idon’tknow.”Heglancesatmeandlowersthephonefromhisear.
“We’refine.Keepgoing,”hesayscalmly,smilingatme,butthesmiledoesn’t
touchhiseyes.Shit!Adrenalinespikesthroughmysystem.Hepicksthe
phoneupagain.
“Okayonthe520.Assoonaswehitit…Yes…Iwill.”
Heslotsthephoneintothespeakercradle,puttingitonhands-free.
“What’swrong,Christian?”
“Justlookwhereyou’regoing,baby,”hesayssoftly.I’mheadingfortheon-
rampofthe520inthedirectionofSeattle.WhenIglanceatChristian,he’s
staringstraightahead.
“Idon’twantyoutopanic,”hesayscalmly.“Butassoonaswe’reonthe520
proper,Iwantyoutosteponthegas.We’rebeingfollowed.”
Followed!Holyshit.Myheartlurchesintomymouth,pounding,myscalp
pricklesandmythroatconstrictswithpanic.Followedbywhom?Myeyes
darttotherearviewmirrorand,sureenough,thedarkcarIsawearlierisstill
behindus.Fuck!Isthatit?Isquintthroughthetintedwindshieldtosee
who’sdriving,butIseenothing.
“Keepyoureyesontheroad,baby,”Christiansaysgently,notinthetruculent
tonehenormallyuseswheremydrivingisconcerned.Getagrip!Imentally
slapmyselftosubduethedreadthat’sthreateningtoswampme.Suppose
whoever’sfollowingusisarmed?
ArmedandafterChristian!Shit!I’mhitbyawaveofnausea.
“Howdoweknowwe’rebeingfollowed?”Myvoiceisabreathy,squeaky,
whisper.
“TheDodgebehindushasfalselicenseplates.”
Howdoesheknowthat?
Isignalasweapproachthe520fromtheon-ramp.It’slateafternoon,and
althoughtherainhasstopped,theroadwayiswet.89|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Fortunately,thetrafficisreasonablylight.
Ray’svoiceechoesinmyheadfromoneofhismanyself-defenselectures.
“It’sthepanicthat’sgonnakillyouorgetyouseriouslyhurt,Annie.”Itakea
deepbreath,tryingtobringmybreathingundercontrol.Whoeverisfollowing
usisafterChristian.AsItakeanotherdeepsteadyingbreath,mymindbegins
toclearandmystomachsettles.IhavetokeepChristiansafe.Iwantedto
drivethiscar,andIwantedtodriveitfast.Well,here’smychance.Igripthe
steeringwheelandtakeafinalglanceinmyrearviewmirror.TheDodgeis
closingonus.Islowrightdown,ignoringChristian’ssuddenpanickedglance
atme,andtimemyentranceontothe520sothattheDodgehastoslowand
stoptowaitforagapinthetraffic.Idropagearandfloorit.TheR8shoots
forward,slammingusbothintothebacksofourseats.Thespeedometer
whipsuptoseventy-fivemilesperhour.
“Steady,baby,”Christiansayscalmly,thoughI’msurehe’sanythingbut
calm.
Iweavebetweenthetwolinesoftrafficlikeablackcounterinagameof
checkers,effectivelyjumpingthecarsandtrucks.We’resoclosetothelake
onthisbridge,it’sasifwe’redrivingonthewater.Istudiouslyignorethe
angry,disapprovinglooksfromotherdrivers.Christianclutcheshishands
togetherinhislap,keepingasstillaspossible,andinspiteofmyfevered
thoughts,Iwondervaguelyifhe’sdoingitsohedoesn’tdistractme.
“Goodgirl,”hebreathesinencouragement.Heglancesbehindhim.
“Ican’tseetheDodge.”
“We’rerightbehindtheunsub,Mr.Grey.”Sawyer’svoicecomesthroughthe
hands-free.“He’stryingtocatchupwithyou,sir.We’regoingtotryand
comealongside,putourselvesbetweenyourcarandtheDodge.”
Unsub?Whatdoesthatmean?
“Good.Mrs.Greyisdoingwell.Atthisrate,providedthetrafficremainslight
—andfromwhatIcanseeitis—we’llbeoffthebridgeinafewminutes.”
“Sir.”
Weflashpastthebridgecontroltower,andIknowwe’rehalfwayacross
LakeWashington.WhenIcheckmyspeed,I’mstilldoingseventy-five.
90|Page
ELJAMES
“You’redoingreallywell,Ana,”Christianmurmursagainashegazesoutthe
backoftheR8.Forafleetingmoment,histoneremindsmeofourfirst
encounterinhisplayroomwhenhepatientlyencouragedmethroughourfirst
scene.Thethoughtisdistracting,andIdismissitimmediately.
“WhereamIheaded?”Iask,moderatelycalmer.Ihavethefeelofthecar
now.It’sajoytodrive,soquietandeasytohandleit’shardtobelievehow
fastwearegoing.Drivingatthisspeedinthiscariseasy.
“Mrs.Grey,headforI-5andthensouth.WewanttoseeiftheDodgefollows
youalltheway,”Sawyersaysoverthehands-free.Thetrafficlightsonthe
bridgearegreen—thankheavens—andIraceonward.
IglancenervouslyatChristian,andhesmilesreassuringly.Thenhisface
falls.
“Shit!”heswearssoftly.
ThereisalineoftrafficaheadaswecomeoffthebridgeandIhavetoslow.
Glancinganxiouslyinthemirroroncemore,IthinkIspottheDodge.
“Tenorsocarsback?”
“Yeah,Iseeit,”Christiansays,peeringthroughthenarrowrearwindow.“I
wonderwhothefuckitis?”
“Metoo.Doweknowifit’samandriving?”Iblurtouttowardthecradled
BlackBerry.
“No,Mrs.Grey.Couldbeamanorwoman.Thetintistoodark.”
“Awoman?”Christiansays.
Ishrug.“YourMrs.Robinson?”Isuggest,nottakingmyeyesofftheroad.
ChristianstiffensandliftstheBlackBerryoutofitscradle.“She’snotmy
Mrs.Robinson,”hegrowls.“Ihaven’tspokentohersincemybirthday.And
Elenawouldn’tdothis.It’snotherstyle.”
“Leila?”
“She’sinConnecticutwithherparents.Itoldyou.”
“Areyousure?”
Hepauses.“No.Butifshe’dabsconded,I’msureherfolkswouldhavelet
Flynnknow.Let’sdiscussthiswhenwe’rehome.Concentrateonwhatyou’re
doing.”
“Butitmightjustbesomerandomcar.”
91|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’mnottakinganyrisks.Notwhereyou’reconcerned,”hesnaps.He
replacestheBlackBerryinitscradlesowe’rebackincontactwithour
securityteam.
Ohshit.Idon’twanttorattleChristianrightnow…latermaybe.Iholdmy
tongue.Fortunately,thetrafficisthinningalittle.Iamabletospeedoverthe
MountlakeintersectiontowardtheI-5,weavingthroughthecarsagain.
“Whatifwegetstoppedbythecops?”Iask.
“Thatwouldbeagoodthing.”
“Notformylicense.”
“Don’tworryaboutthat,”hesays.Unexpectedly,Ihearhumorinhisvoice.
Iputmyfootdownagain,andhitseventy-five.Boy,thiscarcanmove.Ilove
it—she’ssoeasy.Itoucheighty-five.Idon’tthinkIhaveeverdriventhisfast.
IwasluckyifmyBeetleeverhitfiftymilesanhour.
“He’sclearedthetrafficandpickedupspeed.”Sawyer’sdisembodiedvoiceis
calmandinformative.“He’sdoingninety.”
Shit!Faster!Ipressdownonthegasandthecarpurrstoninety-fivemilesper
hourasweapproachtheI-5intersection.
“Keepitup,Ana,”Christianmurmurs.
IslowmomentarilyasweglideontotheI-5.Theinterstateisfairlyquiet,and
I’mabletocrossstraightovertothefastlaneinasplitsecond.AsIputmy
footdown,thegloriousR8zoomsforward,andweteardowntheleftlane,
lessermortalspullingovertoletuspass.IfIwasn’tsofrightened,Imight
reallyenjoythis.
“He’shitonehundredmilesperhour,sir.”
“Staywithhim,Luke,”ChristianbarksatSawyer.
Luke?
Atrucklurchesintothefastlane—Shit!—andIhavetoslamonthebrakes.
“Fuckingidiot!”Christiancursesthedriveraswelurchforwardinourseats.I
amgratefulforourseatbelts.
“Goaroundhim,baby,”Christiansaysthroughclenchedteeth.Icheckmy
mirrorsandcutrightacrossthreelanes.Wespeedpasttheslowervehiclesand
thencutbacktothefastlane.
“Nicemove,Mrs.Grey,”Christianmurmursappreciatively.“Where92|Pag
e
ELJAMES
arethecopswhenyouneedthem?”
“Idon’twantaticket,Christian,”Imutter,concentratingonthehighway
ahead.“Haveyouhadaspeedingticketdrivingthis?”
“No,”hesays,butglancingquicklyathim,Icanseehissmirk.
“Haveyoubeenstopped?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Charm,Mrs.Grey.Itallcomesdowntocharm.Nowconcentrate.Where’s
theDodge,Sawyer?”
“He’sjusthitonehundredandten,sir.”Sawyersays.Holyfuck!Myheart
leapsoncemoreintomymouth.CanIdriveanyfaster?Ipushmyfootdown
oncemoreandstreakpastthetraffic.
“Flashtheheadlights,”ChristianorderswhenaFordMustangwon’tmove.
“Butthatwouldmakemeanasshole.”
“Sobeanasshole!”hesnaps.
Jeez.Okay!“Um,wherearetheheadlights?”
“Theindicator.Pullittowardyou.”
Idoit,andtheMustangmovesasidethoughnotbeforethedriverwaveshis
fingeratmeinanone-too-complimentarymanner.Izoompasthim.
“He’stheasshole,”Christiansaysunderhisbreath,thenbarksatme,“getoff
onStewart.”
Yessir!
“We’retakingtheStewartSt.exit,”ChristiansaystoSawyer.
“HeadstraighttoEscala,sir.”
Islow,checkmymirrors,signal,thenmovewithsurprisingeaseacrossfour
lanesofthehighwayanddowntheoff-ramp.MergingontoStewartStreet,we
headsouth.Thestreetisquiet,withfewvehicles.Whereiseveryone?
“We’vebeendamnedluckywiththetraffic.ButthatmeanstheDodgehas,
too.Don’tslowdown,Ana.Getushome.”
“Ican’tremembertheway,”Imutter,panickedbythefacttheDodgeisstill
onourtail.
“HeadsouthonStewart.KeepgoinguntilItellyouwhen.”
Christiansoundsanxiousagain.Izoompastthreeblocksbutthelightschange
toyellowonYaleAvenue.
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Runthem,Ana,”Christianshouts.IjumpsohardIfloorthegaspedal,
throwingusbothbackinourseats,speedingthroughthenowredlight.
“He’stakingStewart,”Sawyersays.
“Staywithhim,Luke.”
“Luke?”
“That’shisname.”
AquickglanceandIcanseeChristianglaringatmeasifI’mcrazy.
“Eyesontheroad!”hesnaps.
Iignorehistone.“LukeSawyer.”
“Yes!”Hesoundsexasperated.
“Ah.”HowdidInotknowthis?Themanhasbeenfollowingmetoworkfor
thelastsixweeks,andIdidn’tevenknowhisfirstname.
“That’sme,ma’am,”Sawyersays,startlingme,thoughhe’sspeakinginthe
calm,monotonevoicehealwaysuses.“TheunsubisheadingdownStewart,
sir.He’sreallypickingupspeed.”
“Go,Ana.Lessofthefuckingchitchat,”Christiangrowls.
“We’restoppedatthefirstlightonStewart.”Sawyerinformsus.
“Ana—quick—inhere,”Christianshouts,pointingtoaparkinglotonthe
southsideofBorenAvenue.Iturn,thetiresscreechinginprotestasIswerve
intothecrowdedlot.
“Drivearound.Quick,”Christianorders.IdriveasfastasIcantotheback,
outofsightofthestreet.“Inthere.”Christianpointstoaspace.Shit!He
wantsmetoparkit.Crap!
“Justfuckingdoit,”hesays.SoIdo…perfectly.ProbablytheonlytimeI
haveeverparkedperfectly.
“We’rehiddenintheparkinglotbetweenStewartandBoren,”
ChristiansaysintotheBlackBerry.
“Okay,sir.”Sawyersoundsirritated.“Staywhereyouare;we’llfollowthe
unsub.”
Christianturnstome,hiseyessearchingmyface.“Youokay?”
“Sure,”Iwhisper.
Christiansmirks.“Whoever’sdrivingthatDodgecan’thearus,youknow.”
AndIlaugh.
“We’repassingStewartandBorennow,sir.Iseethelot.He’sgonestraight
pastyou,sir.”
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ELJAMES
Bothofussagsimultaneouslywithrelief.
“Welldone,Mrs.Grey.Gooddriving.”Christiangentlystrokesmyfacewith
hisfingertips,andIjumpatthecontact,inhalingdeeply.IhadnoideaIwas
holdingmybreath.
“Doesthismeanyou’llstopcomplainingaboutmydriving?”Iask.Helaughs
—aloudcatharticlaugh.
“Iwouldn’tgosofarastosaythat.”
“Thankyouforlettingmedriveyourcar.Undersuchexcitingcircumstances,
too.”Itrydesperatelytokeepmyvoicelight.
“MaybeIshoulddrivenow.”
“Tobehonest,Idon’tthinkIcanclimboutrightnowtoletyousithere.My
legsfeellikeJell-O.”SuddenlyI’mshudderingandshaking.
“It’stheadrenaline,baby,”hesays.“Youdidamazinglywell,asusual.You
blowmeaway,Ana.Youneverletmedown.”Hetouchesmycheektenderly
withthebackofhishand,hisfacefulloflove,fear,regret—somany
emotionsatonce—andhiswordsaremyundoing.Overwhelmed,astrangled
sobescapesfrommyconstrictedthroat,andIstarttocry.
“No,baby,no.Pleasedon’tcry.”Hereachesoverand,inspiteofthelimited
spacewehave,pullsmeoverthehandbrakeconsoletocradlemeinhislap.
Smoothingmyhairoffmyface,hekissesmyeyes,thenmycheeks,andIcurl
myarmsaroundhimandsobquietlyintohisneck.Heburieshisnoseinmy
hairandwrapsmeinhisarms,holdingmetightandwesit,neitherofus
sayinganything,justholdingeachother.
Sawyer’svoicestartlesus.“TheunsubhasslowedoutsideEscala.He’scasing
thejoint.”
“Followhim,”Christiansnaps.
Iwipemynoseonthebackofmyhandandtakeadeepsteadyingbreath.
“Usemyshirt.”Christiankissesmytemple.
“Sorry,”Imutter,embarrassedbymycrying.
“Whatfor?Don’tbe.”
Iwipemynoseagain.Hetipsmychinupandplantsagentlekissonmylips.
“Yourlipsaresosoftwhenyoucry,mybeautiful,bravegirl,”
hewhispers.
“Kissmeagain.”
95|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christianstills,onehandonmyback,theotheronmybehind.
“Kissme,”Ibreathe,andIwatchhislipspartasheinhalessharply.Leaning
acrossme,hetakestheBlackBerryoutofitscradle,andtossesitontothe
driver’sseatbesidemysandaledfeet.Thenhismouthisonmeashemoves
hisrighthandintomyhair,holdingmeinplace,andliftshislefttocradlemy
face.Histongueinvadesmymouth,andIwelcomeit.Adrenalineturnstolust
streakingthroughmybody.Iclasphisface,runningmyfingersoverhis
sideburns,relishingthetasteofhim.Hegroansatmyfeveredresponse,low
anddeepinhisthroat,andmybellytightensswiftandhardwithcarnaldesire.
Hishandmovesdownmybody,brushingmybreast,mywaist,anddownto
mybackside.Ishiftfractionally.
“Ah!”hesaysandbreaksawayfromme,breathless.
“What?”Imutteragainsthislips.
“Ana,we’reinacarlotinSeattle.”
“So?”
“Well,rightnowIwanttofuckyou,andyou’reshiftingaroundonme…it’s
uncomfortable.”
Mycravingspiralsoutofcontrolathiswords,tighteningallmymuscles
belowmywaistoncemore.
“Fuckmethen.”Ikissthecornerofhismouth.Iwanthim.Now.Thatcar
chasewasexciting.Tooexciting.Terrifying…andthefearhasjump-started
mylibido.Heleansbacktogazeatme,hiseyesdarkandhooded.
“Here?”Hisvoiceishusky.Mymouthgoesdry.Howcanheturnmeonwith
oneword?
“Yes.Iwantyou.Now.”
Hetiltshisheadtoonesideandstaresatmeforafewmoments.
“Mrs.Grey,howverybrazen,”hewhispers,afterwhatfeelslikeaneternity.
Hishandtightensaroundmyhairatmynape,holdingmefirmlyinplace,and
hismouthisonmineagain,moreforcefullythistime.Hisotherhandskims
downmybody,downovermybehindandlowerstilltomymid-thigh.My
fingerscurlintohisoverlonghair.
“I’msogladyou’rewearingaskirt,”hemurmursasheslipshishandbeneath
myblueandwhitepatternedskirttocaressmythigh.Isquirmoncemoreon
hislapandtheairhissesbetweenhisteeth.
“Keepstill,”hegrowls.Hecupsmysexwithhishand,andIstill96|Page
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immediately.Histhumbbrushesovermyclitorisandmybreathcatchesinmy
throataspleasurejoltslikeelectricitydeep,deep,deepinsideme.
“Still,”hewhispers.Hekissesmeoncemoreashisthumbcirclesgently
aroundmethroughthesheerfinelaceofmydesignerunderwear.Slowlyhe
easestwofingerspassedmypantiesandinsideme.Igroanandflexmyhips
towardhishand.
“Please,”Iwhisper.
“Oh,Mrs.Grey.You’resoready,”hesays,slidinghisfingersinandout,
tortuouslyslowly.“Docarchasesturnyouon?”
“Youturnmeon.”
Hesmilesawolfishgrinandwithdrawshisfingerssuddenly,leavingme
wanting.Hescoopshisarmundermykneesand,takingmebysurprise,he
liftsmeandswingsmearoundtofacethewindshield.
“Placeyourlegseithersideofmine,”heorders,puttinghislegstogetherin
themiddleofthefootwell.IdoasI’mtold,placingmyfeetontheflooron
eithersideofhis.Herunshishandsdownmythighs,thenback,pullingup
myskirt.
“Handsonmyknees,baby.Leanforward.Liftthatgloriousassintheair.
Mindyourhead.”
Shit!Wereallyaregoingtodothis,inapublicparkinglot.Iquicklyscanthe
areainfrontofusandseenoone—butfeelathrillcoursingthroughme.I’m
inapubliclot!Thisissohot!Christianshiftsbeneathme,andIhearthe
telltalesoundofhiszipper.Puttingonearmaroundmywaistandwithhis
otherhandtuggingmylacypantiessideways,heimpalesmeinoneswift
move.
“Ah!”Icryout,grindingdownonhim,andhisbreathhissesthroughhis
teeth.Hisarmsnakesaroundmeuptomyneckandhegraspsmeundermy
chin.Hishandspreadsacrossmyneck,pullingmebackandtiltingmyhead
toonesidesohecankissmythroat.Hisotherhandgripsmyhipandtogether
westarttomove.
Ipushupwithmyfeet,andhetiltshimselfintome—inandout.The
sensationis…Igroanloudly.It’ssodeepthisway.Mylefthandcurlsaround
thehandbrake,myrighthandbracedagainstmydoor.Histeethgrazemy
earlobeandhetugs—it’salmostpainful.Hebucksagainandagainintome.I
riseandfall,andasweestablisharhythm,hemoveshishandaroundbeneath
myskirttotheapexofmythighs,andhisfingersgentlyteasemyclitoris
throughthesheerfineryofmy97|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
panties.
“Ah!”
“Be.Quick,”hebreathesintomyearthroughgrittedteeth,hishandstill
curledaroundmyneckbeneathmychin.“Weneedtodothisquick,Ana.”
Andheincreasesthepressureofhisfingersagainstmysex.
“Ah!”Ifeelthefamiliarbuildofpleasure,bunchingdeepandthickinsideme.
“Comeon,baby,”heraspsatmyear.“Iwanttohearyou.”
Imoanagain,andIamallsensation,myeyestightlyclosed.Hisvoiceatmy
ear,hisbreathonmyneck,pleasureradiatingoutfromwherehisfingerstease
mybodyandwhereheslamsdeepinsideme—
andIamlost.Mybodytakescontrol,cravingrelease.
“Yes,”ChristianhissesinmyearandIopenmyeyesbriefly,staringwildlyat
theclothroofoftheR8,andIscrunchthemclosedagainasIcomearound
him.
“Oh,Ana,”hemurmursinwonder,andhewrapshisarmsaroundmeand
ramsintomeonelasttimeandstillsasheclimaxesdeepinside.Herunshis
nosealongmyjawandsoftlykissesmythroat,mycheek,mytempleasalie
onhim,myheadlollingagainsthisneck.
“Tensionrelieved,Mrs.Grey?”Christiancloseshisteetharoundmyearlobe
againandtugs.Mybodyisdrained,totallyexhausted,andImewl.Ifeelhis
smileagainstme.
“Certainlyhelpedwithmine,”headds,shiftingmeoffhim.“Lostyour
voice?”
“Yes,”Imurmur.
“Wellaren’tyouthewantoncreature?Ihadnoideayouweresuchan
exhibitionist.”
Isitupimmediately,alarmed.Hetenses.“Noone’swatchingarethey?”I
glanceanxiouslyaroundthecarlot.
“DoyouthinkI’dletanyonewatchmywifecome?”Hestrokeshishand
downmybackreassuringly,butthetoneofhisvoicesendsshiversdownmy
spine.Iturntogazeathimandgrinimpishly.
“Carsex!”Iexclaim.
Hegrinsandtucksastrandofhairbehindmyear.“Let’sheadback.I’ll
drive.”
Heopensthedoortoletmeclimboffhislapandoutintothe98|Page
ELJAMES
parkinglot.WhenIglancedownhe’squicklydoinguphisfly.Hefollowsme
outandthenholdsthedooropenformetoclimbbackin.Strollingquickly
aroundtothedriver’sside,heclimbsinbesideme,retrievestheBlackBerry,
andmakesacall.
“Where’sSawyer?”hesnaps.“AndtheDodge?HowcomeSawyer’snotwith
you?”
HelistensintentlytoRyan,Iassume.
“Her?”hegasps.“Stickwithher.”Christianhangsupandgazesatme.
Her!Thedriverofthecar?Whocouldthatbe—Elena?Leila?
“ThedriveroftheDodgeisfemale?”
“Soitwouldappear,”hesaysquietly.Hismouthpressesintoathinangry
line.“Let’sgetyouhome,”hemutters.HestartsuptheR8witharoarand
reversessmoothlyoutofthespace.
“Where’sthe,er…unsub?Whatdoesthatmeanbytheway?
SoundsveryBDSM.”
Christiansmilesbrieflyasheeasesthecaroutofthelotandbackonto
StewartStreet.
“ItstandsforUnknownSubject.Ryanisex-FBI.”
“Ex-FBI?”
“Don’task.”Christianshakeshishead.It’sobvioushe’sdeepin
contemplation.
“Well,whereisthisfemaleunsub?”
“OntheI-5,headingsouth.”Heglancesatme,hiseyesgrim.Jeez—from
passionatetocalmtoanxiousinthespaceofafewmoments.Ireachoverand
caresshisthigh,runningmyfingersleisurelyuptheinsideseamofhisjeans,
hopingtoimprovehismood.Hetakeshishandoffthesteeringwheeland
stopstheslowascentofmyhand.
“No,”hesays.“We’vemadeitthisfar.Youdon’twantmetohaveanaccident
threeblocksfromhome.”Heraisesmyhandtohislipsandplantsacoolkiss
onmyindexfingertotakethestingoutofhisrebuke.Cool,calm,
authoritative…MyFifty.Andforthefirsttimeinawhilehemakesmefeel
likeawaywardchild.Iwithdrawmyhandandsitquietlyforamoment.
“Female?”
“Apparentlyso.”Hesighs,turnsintotheundergroundgarageat99|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Escala,andpunchestheaccesscodeintothesecuritykeypad.Thegateswings
openandhedriveson,smoothlyparkingtheR8initsdesignatedspace.
“Ireallylikethiscar,”Imurmur.
“Metoo.AndIlikehowyouhandledit—andhowyoumanagednottobreak
it.”
“Youcanbuymeoneformybirthday,”Ismirkathim.Christian’smouth
dropsopenasIclimboutofthecar.
“Awhiteone,Ithink,”Iadd,leaningdownandsmirkingathim.Hesmiles.
“AnastasiaGrey,youneverceasetoamazeme.”
Ishutthedoorandwalktotheendofthecartowaitforhim.Gracefullyhe
climbsout,watchingmewiththatlook…thatlookthatcallstosomething
deepinsideme.Iknowthislookwell.Oncehe’sinfrontofme,heleans
downandwhispers,“Youlikethecar.Ilikethecar.I’vefuckedyouinit…
perhapsIshouldfuckyouonit.”
Igasp.AndasleeksilverBMWpullsintothegarage.Christianglancesatit
anxiously,thenwithannoyanceandsmirksdownatme.
“Butitlookslikewehavecompany.Come.”Hegrabsmyhandandheadsfor
thegarageelevator.Hepushesthecallbuttonandaswewait,thedriverofthe
BMWjoinsus.He’syoung,casuallydressed,withlong,layered,darkhair.
Helookslikeheworksinthemedia.
“Hi,”hesays,smilingwarmlyatus.
Christianputshisarmaroundmeandnodspolitely.
“I’vejustmovedin.Apartmentsixteen.”
“Hello.”Ireturnhissmile.Hehaskind,softbrowneyes.Theelevatorarrives
andweallwalkin.Christianglancesdownatme,hisexpressionunreadable.
“You’reChristianGrey,”theyoungmansays.
Christiangiveshimatightsmile.
“PaulHarrison.”Heholdsouthishand.Reluctantly,Christiantakesit.
“Whichfloor?”Paulasks.
“Ihavetoinputacode.”
“Oh.”
“Penthouse.”
“Oh.”Paulsmilesbroadly.“Ofcourse.”Hepressesthebuttonfortheeighth
floorandthedoorsclose.“Mrs.Grey,Ipresume.”
“Yes.”Igivehimapolitesmileandweshakehands.Paulflushesa100|Pag
e
ELJAMES
littleashegazesatmeafractiontoolong.Ohno.Imirrorhisflushand
Christian’sarmtightensaroundme.
“Whendidyoumovein?”Iask.
“Lastweekend.Ilovetheplace.”
There’sanawkwardpausebeforetheelevatorstopsatPaul’sfloor.
“Greattomeetyouboth,”hesayssoundingrelievedandstepsout.Thedoors
closesilentlybehindhim.Christiantapsintheentrycodeandtheelevator
ascendsagain.
“Heseemednice,”Imurmur.“I’venevermetanyoftheneighborsbefore.”
Christianscowls.“Ipreferitthatway.”
“That’sbecauseyou’reahermit.Ithoughthewaspleasantenough.”
“Ahermit?”
“Hermit.Stuckinyourivorytower,”Istatematter-of-factly.Christian’slips
twitchwithamusement.
“Ourivorytower.AndIthinkyouhaveanothernametoaddtothelistofyour
admirers,Mrs.Grey.”
Irollmyeyes.“Christian,youthinkeveryoneisanadmirer.”
“Didyoujustrollyoureyesatme?”
Mypulsequickens.“Isuredid,”Iwhisper,mybreathcatchinginmythroat.
Hecockshisheadtooneside,wearinghissmoldering,arrogant,amused
expression.“Whatshallwedoaboutthat?”
“Somethingrough.”
Heblinkstohidehissurprise.“Rough?”
“Please.”
“Youwantmore?”
Inodslowly.Thedoorstotheelevatoropenandwe’rehome.
“Howrough?”hebreathes,hiseyesdarkening.
Igazeathim,sayingnothing.Hecloseshiseyesforamoment,andthen
grabsmyhandandhaulsmeintothefoyer.
Whenweburstthroughthedoubledoors,Sawyerisstandinginthehallway,
lookingexpectantlyatthetwoofus.
“Sawyer,I’dliketobedebriefedinanhour,”Christiansays.
“Yes,sir.”Turning,SawyerheadsbackintoTaylor’soffice.Wehaveanhour!
Christianglancesdownatme.“Rough?”
101|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Inod.
“Well,Mrs.Grey,you’reinluck.I’mtakingrequeststoday.”
102|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterSix
“Doyouhaveanythinginmind?”Christianmurmurs,pinningmewithhis
boldgaze.Ishrug,suddenlybreathlessandagitated.Idon’tknowifit’sthe
chase,theadrenaline,myearlierbadmood—Idon’tunderstand,butIwant
this,andIwantitbadly.ApuzzledexpressionflitsacrossChristian’sface.
“Kinkyfuckery?”heasks,hiswordsasoftcaress.Inod,feelingmyface
flame.WhyamIembarrassedbythis?Ihavedoneallmannerofkinky
fuckerywiththisman.He’smyhusband,damnit!AmIembarrassedbecause
IwantthisandI’mashamedtoadmitit?Mysubconsciousglaresatme.Stop
overthinking.
“Carteblanche?”Hewhispersthequestion,eyeingmespeculativelyasifhe’s
tryingtoreadmymind.
Carteblanche?Holyfuck—whatwillthatentail?“Yes,”Imurmurnervously,
asexcitementbloomsdeepinsideme.Hesmilesaslowsexysmile.
“Come,”hesaysandtugsmetowardthestairs.Hisintentionisclear.
Playroom!Myinnergoddesswakesfromherpost-R8-sexslumber,wide-eyed
andraringtogo.
Atthetopofthestairs,hereleasesmyhandandunlockstheplayroomdoor.
ThekeyisontheYesSeattlekeychainthatIgavehimnotsolongago.
“Afteryou,Mrs.Grey,”hesaysandswingsthedooropen.Theplayroom
smellsreassuringlyfamiliar,ofleatherandwoodandfreshpolish.Iblush,
knowingthatMrs.Jonesmusthavebeeninherecleaningwhilewewere
awayonourhoneymoon.Asweenter,Christianswitchesonthelightsand
thedarkredwallsareilluminatedwithsoft,diffusedlight.Istandgazingat
him,anticipationrunningthickandheavythroughmyveins.Whatishegoing
todotome?Helocksthedoorandturns.Inclininghisheadtooneside,he
regardsmethoughtfullyandthenshakeshishead,amused.
“Whatdoyouwant,Anastasia?”heasksgently.
“You.”Myresponseisbreathy.
103|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Hesmirks.“You’vegotme.You’vehadmesinceyoufellintomyoffice.”
“Surprisemethen,Mr.Grey.”
Hismouthtwistswithrepressedhumorandcarnalpromise.“Asyouwish,
Mrs.Grey.”Hefoldshisarmsandraisesonelongindexfingertohislips
whileheappraisesme.“Ithinkwe’llstartbyriddingyouofyourclothes.”He
stepsforward.Graspingthefrontofmyshortdenimjacket,heopensitand
pushesitovermyshoulderssoitfallstothefloor.Heclaspsthehemofmy
blackcamisole.
“Liftyourarms.”
Iobey,andhepeelsitoffovermyhead.Leaningdown,heplantsasoftkiss
onmylips,hiseyesglowingwithanalluringmixoflustandlove.The
camisolejoinsmyjacketonthefloor.
“Here,”IwhispergazingnervouslyathimasIremovethehairtiefrom
aroundmywristandholditupforhim.Hestills,andhiseyeswiden
momentarilybutgivenothingaway.Finally,hetakesthesmallband.
“Turnaround,”heorders.
Relieved,Ismiletomyselfandobligeimmediately.Lookslikewe’ve
overcomethatlittlehurdle.Hegathersmyhairandbraidsitquicklyand
efficientlybeforefasteningitwiththetie.Hetugsthebraid,pullingmyhead
back.
“Goodthinking,Mrs.Grey,”hewhispersinmyear,thennipsmyearlobe.
“Nowturnaroundandtakeyourskirtoff.Letitfalltothefloor.”Hereleases
meandstepsbackasIturntofacehim.Nottakingmyeyesoffhis,Iunbutton
thewaistbandofmyskirtandeasethezipperdown.Thefullskirtfansout
andfallstothefloor,poolingatmyfeet.
“Stepoutfromyourskirt,”heorders.AsIsteptowardhim,hekneelsswiftly
downinfrontofmeandgraspsmyrightankle.Deftly,heunbucklesmy
sandalsoneatatimewhileIleanforward,balancingmyselfwithahandon
thewallunderthepegsthatusedtoholdallhiswhips,cropsandpaddles.The
floggerandtheridingcroparetheonlyimplementsthatremain.Ieyethem
withcuriosity.Willheusethose?
HavingremovedmyshoessoI’mjustinmylacybraandpanties,Christian
sitsbackonhisheels,gazingupatme.“You’reafinesight,Mrs.Grey.”
Suddenlyhekneelsup,grabsmyhipsandpullsme104|Page
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forward,buryinghisnoseintheapexofmythighs.“Andyousmellofyou
andmeandsex,”hesaysinhalingsharply.“It’sintoxicating.”Hekissesme
throughmylacepanties,whileIgaspathiswords—myinsidesliquefying.
He’sjustso…naughty.Gatheringupmyclothesandsandals,hestandsin
oneswift,gracefulmove,likeanathlete.
“Goandstandbesidethetable,”hesayscalmly,pointingwithhischin.
Turning,hestridesovertothemuseumchestofwonder.Whatishegoingto
dotome?
Heglancesbackandsmirksatme.“Facethewall,”hecommands.
“Thatwayyouwon’tknowwhatI’mplanning.Weaimtoplease,Mrs.Grey,
andyouwantedasurprise.”
Iturnawayfromhimlisteningacutely—myearssuddenlysensitivetothe
slightestsound.He’sgoodatthis—buildingmyexpectations,stokingmy
desire…makingmewait.Ihearhimputmyshoesdownand,Ithink,my
clothesonthechest,followedbythetelltaleclatterofhisshoesastheydrop
tothefloor,oneatatime.Hmmm…lovebarefootChristian.Amomentlater,
Ihearhimpullopenadrawer.Toys!Whatthehellishegoingtodo?Oh,I
love,love,lovethisanticipation.Thedrawerclosesandmybreathingspikes.
Howcanthesoundofadrawerrendermeaquiveringmess?Itmakesno
sense.Thesubtlehissofthesoundsystemcomingtolifetellsmeit’sgoingto
beamusicalinterlude.Alonepianostarts,mutedandsoft,andmournful
chordsfilltheroom.It’snotatuneIknow.Thepianoisjoinedbyanelectric
guitar.Whatisthis?Aman’svoicespeaksandIcanjustmakeoutthewords,
somethingaboutnotbeingfrightenedofdying.Whatisthis?
Christianpadsleisurelytowardme,hisbarefeetslappingonthewooden
floor.Isensehimbehindmeasawomanstartstosing…wail…sing?
“Rough,yousay,Mrs.Grey?”hebreathesinmyleftear.
“Hmm.”
“Youmusttellmetostopifit’stoomuch.Ifyousaystop,Iwillstop
immediately.Doyouunderstand?”
“Yes.”
“Ineedyourpromise.”
Iinhalesharply.Shit,whatishegoingtodo?“Ipromise,”Imurmur
breathless,recallinghiswordsfromearlier:Idon’twanttohurtyou,105|Pa
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butI’mmorethanhappytoplay.
“Goodgirl.”Leaningdown,heplantsakissonmynakedshoulderthenhooks
afingerbeneathmybrastrapandtracesalineacrossmybackbeneaththe
strap.Iwanttomoan.Howdoeshemaketheslightesttouchsoerotic?
“Takeitoff,”hewhispersatmyear,andhurriedlyIobligeandletmybrafall
tothefloor.
Hishandsskimdownmyback,andhehooksbothofhisthumbsintomy
pantiesandslidesthemdownmylegs.
“Step,”heorders.OncemoreIdoasI’mtold,steppingoutofmypanties.He
plantsakissonmybacksideandstands.
“Iamgoingtoblindfoldyousothateverythingwillbemoreintense.”He
slipsanairlineeyemaskovermyeyes,andmyworldisplungedintothe
darkness.Thewomansingingmoansincoherently…ahaunting,heartfelt
melody.
“Benddownandlieflatonthetable.”Hiswordsaresoftlyspoken.
“Now.”
Withouthesitation,Ibendoverthesideofthetableandrestmytorsoonthe
highlypolishedwood,myfaceflushagainstthehardsurface.It’scoolagainst
myskinanditsmellsvaguelyofbeeswaxwithacitrustang.
“Stretchyourarmsupandholdontotheedge.”
Okay…Reachingforward,Iclutchthefaredgeofthetable.It’squitewide,
somyarmsarefullyextended.
“Ifyouletgo,Iwillspankyou.Doyouunderstand?”
“Yes.”
“Doyouwantmetospankyou,Anastasia?”
Everythingsouthofmywaisttightensdeliciously.IrealizeI’vewantedthis
sincehethreatenedmeduringlunch,andneitherthecarchasenorour
subsequentintimateencounterhassatedthisneed.
“Yes.”Myvoiceisahoarsewhisper.
“Why?”
Oh…doIhavetohaveareason?Jeez.Ishrug.
“Tellme,”hecoaxes.
“Um…”
Andfromoutofnowherehesmacksmehard.
“Ah!”Icryout.
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“Hushnow.”
Hegentlyrubsmybehindwherehe’shitme.Thenheleansoverme,hiships
diggingintomybackside,plantsakissbetweenmyshoulderbladesandtrails
kissesacrossmyback.He’stakenhisshirtoff,sohischesthairticklesmy
back,andhiserectionpressesagainstmethroughtheroughfabricofhis
jeans.
“Openyourlegs,”heorders.
Imovemylegsapart.
“Wider.”
Igroanandspreadmylegswider.
“Goodgirl,”hebreathes.Hetraceshisfingerdownmyback,alongthecrack
betweenmybuttocks,andovermyanus,whichshrinkathistouch.
“We’regoingtohavewithsomefunwiththis,”hewhispers.What?Fuck!
Hisfingercontinuesdownovermyperineumandslowlyslidesintome.
“Iseeyou’reverywet,Anastasia.Fromearlierorfromnow?”
Igroanandheeaseshisfingerinandoutofme,overandover.Ipushbackon
hishand,relishingtheintrusion.
“Oh,Ana,Ithinkit’sboth.Ithinkyoulovebeinghere,likethis.Mine.”
Ido—oh,Ido.Hewithdrawshisfingerandsmacksmehardoncemore.
“Tellme,”hewhispers,hisvoicehoarseandurgent.
“Yes,Ido,”Iwhimper.
HesmacksmehardoncemoresoIcryout,thenstickstwofingersinsideme.
Hewithdrawsthemimmediately,spreadingthemoistureupoverandaround
myanus.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”Iask,breathless.Ohmy…ishegoingtofuck
myass?
“It’snotwhatyouthink,”hemurmursreassuringly.“Itoldyou,onestepat
timewiththis,baby.”Ihearthequietspurtofsomeliquid,presumablyfroma
tube,thenhisfingersaremassagingmethereagain.Lubricatingme…there!I
squirmasmyfearcollideswithmyexcitementoftheunknown.Hesmacks
meoncemore,lower,sohehitsmysex.Igroan.Itfeels…sogood.
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Keepstill,”hesays.“Anddon’tletgo.”
“Ah.”
“Thisislube.”Hespreadssomemoreonme.Itrynottowrigglebeneathhim,
butmyheartispounding,mypulsehaywire,asdesireandanxietypump
throughme.
“Ihavewantedtodothistoyouforsometimenow,Ana.”
Igroan.AndIfeelsomethingcool,metallicallycool,rundownmyspine.
“Ihaveasmallpresentforyouhere,”Christianwhispers.Whatisit?An
imagefromourshow-and-tellspringstomind.Holycow.Abuttplug.
Christianrunsitdownthepartingbetweenmybuttocks.
Ohmy.
“Iamgoingtopushthisinsideyou,veryslowly.”
Igasp,anticipationandanxietychargingthroughme.
“Willithurt?”
“No,baby.It’ssmall.Onceit’sinsideyou,I’mgoingtofuckyourealhard.”
Ipracticallyconvulse.Bendingoverme,hekissesmeoncemorebetweenmy
shoulderblades.
“Ready?”hewhispers.
Ready?AmIreadyforthis?
“Yes,”Imutterquietly,mymouthdry.Herunsanotherfingerdownpastmy
assandperineumandslipsitinsideme.Fuck,it’shisthumb.Hecupsmysex
andhisfingersgentlycaressmyclitoris.Imoan…itfeels…good.And
gently,whilehisfingersandthumbworktheirmagic,hepushesthecoldplug
slowlyintome.
“Ah!”Igroanloudlyattheunfamiliarsensation,mymusclesprotestingatthe
intrusion.Hecircleshisthumbinsidemeandpushestheplugharder,andit
slipsineasily,andIdon’tknowifit’sbecauseI’msoturnedonorifhe’s
distractedmewithhisexpertfingers,butmybodyseemstoacceptit.It’s
heavy…andstrange…there!
“Oh,baby.”
AndIcanfeelit…wherehisthumbswirlsinsideme…andtheplugpresses
against…oh,ah…Heslowlytwiststheplug,elicitingalongdrawn-out
moanfromme.
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“Christian,”Imumble,hisnameagarbledmantra,asIadjusttothesensation.
“Goodgirl,”hemurmurs.Herunshisfreehanddownmysideuntilitreaches
myhip.SlowlyhewithdrawshisthumbandIhearthetelltalesoundofhis
zipperopening.Graspingmyotherhip,hepullsmebackandpartsmylegs
further,hisfootpushingagainstmine.
“Don’tletgoofthetable,Ana,”hewarns.
“No,”Igasp.
“Somethingrough?TellmeifI’mtoorough.Understand?”
“Yes,”Iwhisper,andheslamsintomeandpullsmeontohimatthesame
time,joltingtheplugforward,deeper…
“Fuck!”Icryout.
Hestills,hisbreathingharsherandmypantingmatcheshis.Itrytoassimilate
allthesensations:thedeliciousfullness,thetantalizingfeelingthatIamdoing
somethingforbidden,theeroticpleasurethatspiralsoutwardfromdeep
withinme.Hepullsgentlyontheplug.Ohjeez…Imoan,andIhearhis
sharpintakeofbreath—agaspofpure,unadulteratedpleasure.Itheatsmy
blood.HaveIeverfeltsowanton…so—
“Again?”hewhispers.
“Yes.”
“Stayflat,”heorders.Heeasesoutofmeandramsintomeagain.Oh…I
wantedthis.“Yes,”Ihiss.
Andhepicksupthepace,hisbreathingmorelabored,matchingmyownashe
thrashesintome.
“Oh,Ana,”hegasps.Hemovesoneofhishandsfrommyhipsandtwiststhe
plugagain,tuggingitslowly,pullingitoutandpushingitbackin.Thefeeling
isindescribableandIthinkI’mgoingtopassoutonthetable.Henever
missesabeatashetakesme,againandagain,movingstrongandhardinside
me,myinsidestighteningandquivering.
“Ohfuck,”Imoan.Thisisgoingtoripmeapart.
“Yes,baby,”hehisses.
“Please,”IbeghimandIdon’tknowwhatfor—tostop,toneverstop,totwist
theplugagain.Myinsidesaretighteningaroundhimandtheplug.
“That’sright,”hebreathes,andheslapsmehardonmyrightbuttock,andI
come—againandagain,falling,falling,spinning,pulsingaroundandaround
—andChristiangentlypullstheplugout.109|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Fuck!”IscreamandChristiangrabsmyhipsandclimaxesloudly,holding
mestill.
Thewomanisstillsinging.Christianalwaysputssongsonrepeatinhere.
Strange.Iamcurledinhisarmsonhislapourlegstangledtogether,withmy
headrestingagainsthischest.We’reontheflooroftheplayroombythetable.
“Welcomeback,”hesays,peelingtheblindfoldoffme.Iblinkasmyeyes
adjusttothemutedlight.Tippingmychinback,heplantsasoftkissonmy
lips,hiseyesfocusedonandanxiouslysearchingmine.Ireachuptocaress
hisface.Hesmiles.
“Well,didIfulfillthebrief?”heasks,amused.
Ifrown.“Brief?”
“Youwantedrough,”hesaysgently.
Igrin,becauseIjustcan’thelpit.“Yes.Ithinkyoudid…”
Heraiseshiseyebrowsandgrinsbackatme.“I’mverygladtohearitMrs.
Grey.Youlookthoroughlywellfuckedandbeautifulatthismoment.”He
caressesmyface,hislongfingersstrokingmycheek.
“Ifeelit,”Ipurr.
Hereachesdownandkissesmetenderly,hislipssoftandwarmandgiving
againstmine.“Youneverdisappoint.”Heleansbacktogazedownatme.
“Howdoyoufeel?”Hisvoiceissoftwithconcern.
“Good,”Imurmur,feelingaflushcreepacrossmyface.
“Thoroughlywellfucked.”Ismileshyly.
“Why,Mrs.Grey,youhaveadirty,dirtymouth.”Christianfeignsanoffended
expression,butIcanhearhisamusement.
“That’sbecauseI’mmarriedtoadirty,dirtyboy,Mr.Grey.”
Hegrinsaridiculouslystupidgrinandit’sinfectious.“I’mgladyou’re
marriedtohim.”Hegentlytakesholdofmybraid,liftsittohislips,and
kissestheendwithreverence,hiseyesglowingwithlove.Ohmy…didI
everhaveachanceofresistingthisman?
Ireachforhislefthandandplantakissonhisweddingring,aplainplatinum
bandmatchingmyown.“Mine,”Iwhisper.
“Yours,”heresponds.Hecurlshisarmsaroundmeandpresseshisnoseinto
myhair.“ShallIrunyouabath?”
“Hmm.Onlyifyoujoinmeinit.”
110|Page
ELJAMES
“Okay,”hesays.Hesetsmeontomyfeetandstandsupbesideme.He’sstill
wearinghisjeans.
“Willyouwearyour…er…otherjeans?”
Hefrownsdownatme.“Otherjeans?”
“Theonesyouusedtowearinhere.”
“Thosejeans?”hemurmursblinkingwithperplexedsurprise.
“Youlookveryhotinthem.”
“DoI?”
“Yeah…Imean,reallyhot.”
Hesmiles,shyly.“Wellforyou,Mrs.Grey,maybeIwill.”Hebendstokiss
methengrabsthesmallbowlonthetablethatcontainsthebuttplug,thetube
oflubricant,theblindfold,andmypanties.
“Whocleansthesetoys?”IaskasIfollowhimovertothechest.Hefrownsat
me,asifnotunderstandingthequestion.“Me.Mrs.Jones.”
“What?”
Henods,amusedandembarrassed,Ithink.Heswitchesoffthemusic.“Well
—um…”
“Yoursubsusedtodoit?”Ifinishhissentence.Hegivesmeanapologetic
shrug.
“Here.”HehandsmehisshirtandIputiton,wrappingitaroundmyself.His
scentstillclingstothelinen,andmychagrinaboutbuttplugwashingis
forgotten.Heleavestheitemsonthechest.Takingmyhand,heunlocksthe
playroomdoorthenleadsmeoutanddownstairs.Ifollowhimmeekly.
Theanxiety,thebadmood,thethrill,fear,andexcitementofthecarchase
haveallgone.I’mrelaxed—finallysatedandcalm.Asweenterour
bathroom,Iyawnloudlyandstretch…ateasewithmyselfforachange.
“Whatisit?”Christianasksasheturnsonthefaucet.Ishakemyhead.
“Tellme,”heaskssoftly.Hespillsjasminebathoilintotherunningwater,
fillingtheroomwithitssweet,sensualscent.Iflush.“Ijustfeelbetter.”
Hesmiles.“Yes,you’vebeeninastrangemoodtoday,Mrs.Grey.”
Standing,hepullsmeintohisarms.“Iknowyou’reworryingaboutthese
recentevents.I’msorryyou’recaughtupinthem.Idon’tknowif111|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
it’savendetta,anex-employee,orabusinessrival.Ifanythingwereto
happentoyoubecauseofme—”Hisvoicedropstoapainedwhisper.Icurl
myarmsaroundhim.
“Whatifsomethinghappenstoyou,Christian?”Ivoicemyfear.Hegazes
downatme.“We’llfigurethisout.Nowlet’sgetyououtofthisshirtandinto
thisbath.”
“Shouldn’tyoutalktoSawyer?”
“Hecanwait.”Hismouthhardens,andIfeelasuddenpangofpityfor
Sawyer.What’shedonetoupsetChristian?
ChristianhelpsmeoutofhisshirtthenfrownsasIturntohim.Mybreasts
stillbearfadedbruisesfromthelovebiteshegavemeduringourhoneymoon,
butIdecidenottoteasehimaboutthem.
“IwonderifRyanhascaughtupwiththeDodge?”
“We’llsee,afterthisbath.Getin.”Heholdshishandoutforme.Iclimbinto
thehot,fragrantwaterandsittentatively.
“Ow.”Myassistender,andthehotwatermakesmewince.
“Easy,baby,”Christianwarns,butashesaysit,theuncomfortablesensation
meltsaway.
Christianstripsandclimbsinbehindme,pullingmeagainsthischest.Inestle
betweenhislegs,andwelieidleandcontentinthehotwater.Irunmyfingers
downhislegs,andgatheringmybraidinonehand,hetwirlsitgentlybetween
hisfingers.
“Weneedtogoovertheplansforthenewhouse.Laterthisevening?”
“Sure.”Thatwomaniscomingbackagain.Mysubconsciousgazesupfrom
volume3ofTheCompleteWorksofCharlesDickensandglowers.I’mwith
mysubconscious.Isigh.Unfortunately,GiaMatteo’sdesignsare
breathtaking.
“Imustgetmythingsreadyforwork,”Iwhisper.
Hestills.“Youknowyoudon’thavetogobacktowork,”hemurmurs.
Ohno…notthisagain.“Christian,we’vebeenthroughthis.Pleasedon’t
resurrectthatargument.”
Hetugsmybraidsomyfacetiltsupandback.“Justsaying…”Heplantsa
softkissonmylips.
112|Page
ELJAMES
Ipullonsweatpantsandacamisoleanddecidetofetchmyclothesfromthe
playroom.AsImakemywayacrossthehallway,IhearChristian’sraised
voicefromhisstudy.Ifreeze.
“Wherethefuckwereyou?”
Ohshit.He’sshoutingatSawyer.Cringing,Idashupstairstotheplayroom.I
reallydon’twanttohearwhathehastosaytohim—Istillfindshouty
Christianintimidating.PoorSawyer.AtleastIgettoshoutback.
IgatherupmyclothesandChristian’sshoes,thennoticethesmallporcelain
bowlwiththebuttplugstillontopofthemuseumchest.Well…IsupposeI
shouldcleanit.Iaddittothepileandmakemywaybackdownstairs.I
glancenervouslythroughthegreatroom,butallisquiet…thankheavens.
Taylorwillbebacktomorrowevening,andChristianisgenerallycalmer
whenhe’saround.Taylorisspendingsomequalitytimetodayandtomorrow
withhisdaughter.IwonderidlyifI’llevergettomeether.
Mrs.Jonescomesoutoftheutilityroom.Westartleeachother.
“Mrs.Grey—Ididn’tseeyouthere.”Oh,I’mMrs.Greynow!
“Hello,Mrs.Jones.”
“Welcomehomeandcongratulations.”Shebeamsatme.
“PleasecallmeAna.”
“Mrs.Grey,Iwouldn’tfeelcomfortabledoingthat.”
Oh!Whymusteverythingchange,justbecauseIhavearingonmyfinger?
“Wouldyouliketorunthroughthemenusfortheweek?”sheasks,lookingat
meexpectantly.
Menus?
“Um…”ThisisnotaquestionIhaveeveranticipatedbeingasked.She
smiles.“WhenIfirstworkedforMr.Grey,everySundayeveningIwouldrun
throughthemenusfortheupcomingweekwithhimandlistanythinghe
mightneedfromthegrocerystore.”
“Isee.”
“ShallItakethoseforyou?”
Sheholdsoutherhandsformyclothes.
“Oh…um.ActuallyIhaven’tfinishedwiththese.”Andtheyarehidingthe
bowlwiththebuttplugin!Iblushcrimson.It’sawonderI113|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
canlookMrs.Jonesintheface.Sheknowswhatwedo—shecleanstheroom.
Jeez,it’sjustweirdsharingmylivingspacewithstaffwhoknoweverything.
“Whenyou’reready,Mrs.Grey.I’dbemorethanhappytorunthroughthings
withyou.”
“Thankyou.”Weareinterruptedbyanashen-facedSawyerwhostalksoutof
Christian’sstudyandbrisklycrossesthegreatroom.Hegivesusbothabrief
nod,notlookingeitherofusintheeye,andslinksintoTaylor’sstudy.I’m
gratefulforhisintervention,asIdon’twishtodiscussmenusorbuttplugs
withMrs.Jonesrightnow.Offeringherabriefsmile,Iscurrybacktothe
bedroom.WillIevergetusedtohavingdomesticstaffatmybeckandcall?I
shakemyhead…oneday,maybe.
IdumpChristian’sshoesonthefloorandmyclothesonthebed,andtakethe
bowlwiththebuttplugintothebathroom.Ieyeitsuspiciously.Itlooks
innocuousenough,andsurprisinglyclean.Idon’twanttodwellonthat,andI
washitquicklywithsoapandwater.Willthatbeenough?I’llhavetoaskMr.
Sexpertifitshouldbesterilizedorsomething.Ishudderatthethought.
IlikethatChristianhasturnedthelibraryovertome.Itnowhousesan
attractivewhitewoodendeskIcanworkat.Itakeoutmylaptopandcheck
mynotesonthefivemanuscriptsIreadonhoneymoon.Yep,Ihave
everythingIneed.Partofmedreadsgoingbacktowork,butIcannevertell
Christianthat—he’dseizeontheopportunitytomakemequit.Iremember
Roach’sapoplecticreactionwhenItoldhimIwasgettingmarriedandto
whom,andhow,shortlyafterward,mypositionwasconfirmed.Irealizenow
itwasbecauseIwasmarryingtheboss.Thethoughtisunwelcome.Iamno
longeractingcommissioningeditor—IamAnastasiaSteele,Commissioning
Editor.Ihaven’tyetpluckedupthecouragetotellChristianthatIamnot
goingtochangemynameatwork.Ithinkmyreasonsaresolid—Ineedsome
distancefromhim—butIknowtherewillbeafightwhenhefinallyrealizes
that.PerhapsIshoulddiscussthiswithhimtonight.Sittingbackinmychair,I
startmyfinalchoreoftheday.Iglanceatthedigitalclockonmylaptop,
whichtellsmeit’ssevenintheevening.114|Page
ELJAMES
Christianstillhasn’temergedfromhisstudy,soIhavetime.Takingthe
memorycardoutoftheNikoncameraIloaditintothelaptoptotransferthe
photographs.Asthepicturesupload,Ireflectontheday.IsRyanback?Oris
hestillonhiswaytoPortland?Hashecaughtupwiththemysterywoman?
HasChristianheardfromhim?Iwantsomeanswers.Idon’tcarethathe’s
busy;Iwanttoknowwhat’sgoingon,andIsuddenlyfeelatadresentfulthat
he’skeepingmeinthedark.Irise,intendingtogoandconfronthiminhis
study,butasIdothephotosfromthelastfewdaysofourhoneymoonpopup
onscreen.Holycrap!
Pictureafterpictureofme.Asleep,somanyofmeasleep,myhairovermy
faceorfannedoutacrossthepillow,lipsparted…shit—
suckingmythumb.Ihaven’tsuckedmythumbforyears!Somanyphotos…
Ihadnoideahe’dtakenthese.Thereareafewcandidlongshots,including
oneofmeleaningovertherailoftheyacht,staringmoodilyintothedistance.
HowdidInotnoticehimtakingthis?Ismileatthephotosofmecurledup
beneathhimandlaughing—myhairflyingasIstruggle,fightinghistickling,
tormentingfingers.Andthere’stheoneofhimandmeonthebedinthe
mastercabinthathetookatarm’slength.Iamcuddledonhischestandhe
gazesatthecamera,young,wide-eyed…inlove.Hisotherhandcupsmy
head,andIamsmilinglikealove-struckfool,butIcannottakemyeyesoff
Christian.Oh,mybeautifulman,hisruffledjust-fuckedhair,hisgrayeyes
glowing,hislipspartedandsmiling.Mybeautifulmanwhocannotbeartobe
tickled,whocouldnotbeartobetouchedjustashortwhileago,yetnowhe
toleratesmytouch.Imustaskhimifhelikesit,orwhetherheletsmetouch
himformypleasureratherthanhis.Ifrown,gazingdownathisimage,
suddenlyoverwhelmedbymyfeelingsforhim.Someoneouttherewantsto
harmhim—firstCharlieTango,thenthefireatGEH,andthatdamnedcar
chase.Igasp,puttingmyhandtomymouthasaninvoluntarysobescapes.
Abandoningmycomputer,Ileapuptofindhim—nottoconfronthimnow—
justtocheckthathe’ssafe.
Notbotheringtoknock,Ibargeintohisstudy.Christianissittingathisdesk
andtalkingonthephone.Helooksupinsurprisedannoyance,butthe
irritationonhisfacedisappearswhenheseesit’sme.115|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Soyoucan’tenhanceitfurther?”hesays,continuinghisphoneconversation,
thoughhedoesn’ttakehiseyesoffme.Withouthesitation,Iwalkaroundhis
desk,andheturnsinhischairtofaceme,frowning.Icantellhe’sthinking
whatdoesshewant?WhenIcrawlontohislap,hiseyebrowsshootupin
surprise.Iputmyarmsaroundhisneckandcuddleintohim.Gingerly,he
putshisarmaroundme.
“Um…yes,Barney.Couldyouholdonemoment?”Hecupsthephone
againsthisshoulder.
“Ana,what’swrong?”
Ishakemyhead.Tippingmychinup,hegazesintomyeyes.Ipullmyhead
freefromhishold,tuckitbeneathhischin,andcurlupsmalleronhislap.
Bemused,hewrapshisfreearmmoretightlyaroundmeandkissesthetopof
myhead.
“Okay,Barney,whatwereyousaying?”Hecontinues,wedgingthephone
betweenhisearandhisshoulder,andtapsakeyonhislaptop.Agrainyblack
andwhiteCCTVimageappearsonthescreen…amanwithdarkhair
wearingpalecoverallscomesonthescreen.Christianpressesanotherkey,
andthemanwalkstowardthecamera,butwithhisheadbowed.Whenthe
manisclosertothecamera,Christianfreezestheframe.He’sstandingina
brightwhiteroomwithwhatlookslikealonglineoftallblackcabinetstohis
left.ThismustbeGEH’sserverroom.
“OkayBarney,onemoretime.”
Thescreenspringstolife.Aboxappearsaroundtheheadofthemaninthe
CCTVfootageandsuddenlywezoomin.Isitup,fascinated.
“IsBarneydoingthis?”Iaskquietly.
“Yes,”Christiananswers.“Canyousharpenthepictureatall?”hesaysto
Barney.
Thepictureblurs,thenrefocusesmoderatelysharperofthemanconsciously
gazingdownandavoidingtheCCTVcamera.AsIstareathim,achillof
recognitionsweepsupmyspine.Thereissomethingfamiliarinthelineofhis
jaw.Hehasscruffyshortblackhairthatlooksoddandunkempt…andinthe
newlysharpenedpicture,Iseeanearring,asmallhoop.
Holycrap!Iknowwhoitis.
“Christian,”Iwhisper.“That’sJackHyde.”
116|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterSeven
“Youthink?”Christianasks,surprised.
“It’sthelineofhisjaw.”Ipointatthescreen.“Andtheearringsandtheshape
ofhisshoulders.He’stherightbuild,too.Hemustbewearingawig—orhe’s
cutanddyedhishair.”
“Barney,areyougettingthis?”Christianputsthephonedownonhisdeskand
switchestohands-free.“Youseemtohavestudiedyourex-bossinsome
detail,Mrs.Grey,”hemurmurs,soundingnonetoopleased.Iscowlathim,
butI’msavedbyBarney.
“Yes,sir.IheardMrs.Grey.I’mrunningfacerecognitionsoftwareonallthe
digitizedCCTVfootagerightnow.Seewhereelsethisasshole—I’msorry
ma’am—thismanhasbeenwithintheorganization.”
IglanceanxiouslyatChristian,whoignoresBarney’sexpletive.He’s
studyingtheCCTVpictureclosely.
“Whywouldhedothis?”IaskChristian.
Heshrugs.“Revenge,perhaps.Idon’tknow.Youcan’tfathomwhysome
peoplebehavethewaytheydo.I’mjustangrythatyoueverworkedso
closelywithhim.”Christian’smouthpressesintoahard,thinlineandhisarm
encirclesmywaistprotectively.
“Wehavethecontentsofhisharddrive,too,sir,”Barneyadds.What?
“Yes,Iremember.DoyouhaveanaddressforMr.Hyde?”
Christiansayssharply.
“Yes,sir,Ido.”
“AlertWelch.”
“Surewill.I’malsogoingtoscanthecityCCTVandseeifIcantrackhis
movements.”
“Checkwhatvehicleheowns.”
“Sir.”
“Barneycandoallthis?”Iwhisper.
Christiannodsandgivesmeasmugsmile.
117|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Whatwasonhisharddrive?”Iwhisper.
Christian’sfacehardensandheshakeshishead.“Nothingmuch,”
hesays,tight-lipped,hissmileforgotten.
“Tellme.”
“No.”
“Wasitaboutyou,orme?”
“Me.”Hesighs.
“Whatsortofthings?Aboutyourlifestyle?”
Christianshakeshisheadandputshisindexfingeragainstmylipstosilence
me.Iscowlathim.Buthenarrowshiseyes,andit’saclearwarningthatI
shouldholdmytongue.
“It’sa2006Camaro.I’llsendthelicensedetailstoWelch,too,”
Barneysaysexcitedlyfromthephone.
“Good.Letmeknowwhereelsethatfuckerhasbeeninmybuilding.And
checkthisimageagainsttheonefromhisSIPpersonnelfile.”Christiangazes
atmeskeptically.“Iwanttobesurewehaveamatch.”
“Alreadydone,sir,andMrs.Greyiscorrect.ThisisJackHyde.”
Igrin.See?Icanbeuseful.Christianrubshishanddownmyback.
“Welldone,Mrs.Grey.”Hesmilesandhisearlierrancorforgotten.ToBarney
hesays,“Letmeknowwhenyou’vetrackedallhismovementsatHQ.Also
checkoutanyotherGEHpropertyhemayhavehadaccessto,andletthe
securityteamsknowsotheycanmakeanothersweepofallthosebuildings.”
“Sir.”
“Thanks,Barney.”Christianhangsup.
“Well,Mrs.Grey,itseemsthatyouarenotonlydecorative,butuseful,too.”
Christian’seyeslightupwithwickedamusement.Iknowhe’steasing.
“Decorative?”Iscoff,teasinghimback.
“Very,”hesaysquietly,pressingasoft,sweetkissonmylips.
“You’remuchmoredecorativethanIam,Mr.Grey.”
Hegrinsandkissesmemoreforcefully,windingmybraidaroundhiswrist
andwrappinghisarmsaroundme.Whenwecomeupforair,weareboth
breathless.
“Hungry?”heasks.
“No.”
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ELJAMES
“Iam.”
“Whatfor?”
Heblinksdownatme.“Well—foodactually,Mrs.Grey.”
“I’llmakeyousomething.”Igiggle.
“Ilovethatsound.”
“Ofmeofferingyoufood?”
“Yougiggling.”HekissesmyhairthenIstand.
“Sowhatwouldyouliketoeat,Sir?”Iasksweetly.Henarrowshiseyes.
“Areyoubeingcute,Mrs.Grey?”
“Always,Mr.Grey…Sir.”
Hesmilesasphinxlikesmile.“Icanstillputyouovermyknee,”hemurmurs
seductively.
“Iknow.”Igrindownathim.Placingmyhandsonthearmsofhisoffice
chair,Ileandownandkisshim.“That’soneofthethingsIloveaboutyou.
Butstowyourtwitchingpalm—you’rehungry.”
Hesmileshisshysmileandmyheartclenches.“Oh,Mrs.Grey,whatamI
goingtodowithyou?”
“You’regoingtoanswermyquestion.Whatwouldyouliketoeat?”
“Somethinglight.Surpriseme,”hesays,mirroringmywordsfromthe
playroomearlier.
“I’llseewhatIcando.”Isashayoutofhisstudyandintothekitchen.My
heartsinkswhenIseeMrs.Jonesisthere.
“Hello,Mrs.Jones.”
“Mrs.Grey.Areyoureadyforsomethingtoeat?”
“Um…”
Sheisstirringsomethinginapotonthestovethatsmellsdelicious.
“IwasgoingtomakesubsforMr.Greyandme.”
Shepausesforaheartbeat.“Sure,”shesays.“Mr.GreylikesFrenchbread—
thereissomeinthefreezercuttosublength.I’dbehappytomakeitforyou,
ma’am.”
“Iknow.ButI’dliketodothis.”
“Iunderstand.I’llgiveyousomeroom.”
“Whatareyoucooking?”
“Thisisabolognaisesauce.Itcanbeeatenanytime.I’llfreezeit.”
Shesmileswarmlyandturnstheheatrightdown.
“Um—sowhatdoesChristianlikeina,um…sub?”Ifrown,struckbywhat
I’vejustsaid.DoesMrs.Jonesunderstandtheinference?
119|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Mrs.Grey,youcouldputjustaboutanythinginasandwich,andaslongas
it’sinFrenchbread,he’lleatit.”Wegrinateachother.
“Okay,thankyou.”Iskiptothefridge.InthefreezercompartmentIfindthe
FrenchbreadcuttosizeinZiplockbags.Takingouttwo,Iplacethemona
plate,popthemintothemicrowaveandsetittodefrost.
Mrs.Joneshasdisappeared.IfrownasIreturntothefridgetosearchfor
ingredients.IsupposeitwillbeuptometosettheparametersbywhichMrs.
JonesandIwillworktogether.IliketheideaofcookingforChristianonthe
weekends.Mrs.Jonesismorethanwelcometodoitduringtheweek—the
lastthingI’llwanttodowhenIcomehomefromworkiscook.Hmm…abit
likeChristian’sroutinewithhissubmissives.Ishakemyhead.Imustn’t
overthinkthis.Ifindsomehaminthefridge,andinthecrisperaperfectly
ripeavocado.AsIamaddingatouchofsaltandlemontothemashed
avocado,Christianemergesfromhisstudywiththeplansforthenewhouse
inhishands.Heputsthemonthebreakfastbar,saunterstowardme,and
wrapshisarmsaroundme,kissingmyneck.
“Barefootandinthekitchen,”hemurmurs.
“Shouldn’tthatbebarefootandpregnantinthekitchen?”Ismirk.Hestills,
hiswholebodytensingagainstme.“Notyet,”hedeclares,apprehensionclear
inhisvoice.
“No!Notyet!”
Herelaxes.“Onthatwecanagree,Mrs.Grey.”
“Youdowantkidsthough,don’tyou?”
“Sure,yes.Eventually.ButI’mnotreadytoshareyouyet.”Hekissesmy
neckagain.
Oh…share?
“Whatareyoumaking?Looksgood.”Hekissesmebehindmyear,andI
knowit’stodistractme.Adelicioustingletravelsdownmyspine.
“Subs.”Ismirk,recoveringmysenseofhumor.
Hesmilesagainstmyneckandnipsmyearlobe.“Myfavorite.”
Ipokehimwithmyelbow.
“Mrs.Grey,youwoundme.”Heclutcheshissideasifinpain.
“Wimp,”Imutterdisapprovingly.
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ELJAMES
“Wimp?”heuttersindisbelief.Heslapsmybehind,makingmeyelp.“Hurry
upwithmyfood,wench.AndlaterI’llshowyouhowwimpyIcanbe.”He
slapsmeplayfullyoncemoreandgoestothefridge.
“Wouldyoulikeaglassofwine?”heasks.
“Please.”
ChristianspreadsGia’splansoutoverthebreakfastbar.Shereallyhassome
spectacularideas.
“Iloveherproposaltomaketheentiredownstairsbackwallglass,but…”
“But?”Christianprompts.
Isigh.“Idon’twanttotakeallthecharacteroutofthehouse.”
“Character?”
“Yes.WhatGiaisproposingisquiteradical,but…well…Ifellinlovewith
thehouseasitis…wartsandall.”
Christian’sbrowfurrowsasifthisisanathematohim.
“Ikindoflikeitthewayitis,”Iwhisper.Isthisgoingtomakehimmad?
Heregardsmesteadily.“Iwantthishousetobethewayyouwant.Whatever
youwant.It’syours.”
“Iwantyoutolikeit,too.Tobehappyinit,too.”
“I’llbehappywhereveryouare.It’sthatsimple,Ana.”Hisgazeholdsmine.
Heisutterly,utterlysincere.Iblinkathimasmyheartexpands.Holycow,he
reallydoesloveme.
“Well”—Iswallow,fightingthesmallknotofemotionthatcatchesinmy
throat—“Iliketheglasswall.Maybewecouldaskhertoincorporateitinto
thehousealittlemoresympathetically.”
Christiangrins.“Sure.Whateveryouwant.Whatabouttheplansforupstairs
andthebasement?”
“I’mcoolwiththose.”
“Good.”
Okay…Isteelmyselftoaskthemillion-dollarquestion.“Doyouwanttoput
inaplayroom?”Ifeeltheoh-so-familiarflushcreepupmyfaceasIask.
Christian’seyebrowsshootup.
“Doyou?”hereplies,surprisedandamusedatonce.121|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ishrug.“Um…ifyouwant.”
Heregardsmeforamoment.“Let’sleaveouroptionsopenforthemoment.
Afterall,thiswillbeafamilyhome.”
I’msurprisedbythestabofdisappointmentIfeel.Iguesshe’sright…
althoughwhenarewegoingtohaveafamily?Itcouldbeyears.
“Besides,wecanimprovise.”Hesmirks.
“Ilikeimprovising,”Iwhisper.
Hegrins.“There’ssomethingIwanttodiscuss.”Christianpointstothe
masterbedroom,andwestartadetaileddiscussiononbathroomsandseparate
walk-inclosets.
Whenwefinish,it’sninethirtyintheevening.
“Areyougoingbacktowork?”IaskasChristianrollsuptheplans.
“Notifyoudon’twantmeto.”Hesmiles.“Whatwouldyouliketodo?”
“WecouldwatchTV.”Idon’twanttoread,andIdon’twanttogotobed…
yet.
“Okay,”Christianagreeswillingly,andIfollowhimintotheTV
room.
Wehavesatherethree,maybefourtimestotal,andChristianusuallyreadsa
book.He’snotinterestedintelevisionatall.Icurlupbesidehimonthe
couch,tuckingmylegsbeneathmeandrestingmyheadagainsthisshoulder.
Heswitchesontheflatscreenwiththeremoteandflicksmindlesslythrough
thechannels.
“Anyspecificdrivelyouwanttosee?”
“Youdon’tlikeTVmuch,doyou?”Imuttersardonically.Heshakeshishead.
“Wasteoftime.ButI’llwatchsomethingwithyou.”
“Ithoughtwecouldmakeout.”
Hewhipshisfacetomine.“Makeout?”HegazesatmeasifI’vegrowntwo
heads.Hestopstheendlessflicking,leavingtheTVonanoverlitSpanish
soapopera.
“Yes.”Whyishesohorrified?
“Wecouldgotobedandmakeout.”
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ELJAMES
“Wedothatallthetime.Whenwasthelasttimeyoumadeoutinfrontofthe
TV?”Iask,shyandteasingatthesametime.Heshrugsandshakeshishead.
Pressingtheremoteagainheflicksthroughanotherfewchannelsbefore
settlingonanoldepisodeofTheX-Files.
“Christian?”
“I’veneverdonethat,”hesaysquietly.
Oh!“Never?”
“No.”
“NotevenwithMrs.Robinson?”
Hesnorts.“Baby,IdidalotofthingswithMrs.Robinson.Makingoutwas
notoneofthem.”Hesmirksatmeandthennarrowshiseyeswithamused
curiosity.“Haveyou?”
Iflush.“Ofcourse.”Wellkindof…
“What!Whowith?”
Ohno.Idonotwanttohavethisdiscussion.
“Tellme,”hepersists.
Igazedownatmyknottedfingers.Hegentlycoversmyhandswithoneof
his.WhenIglanceupathim,he’ssmilingatme.
“Iwanttoknow.SoIcanbeatwhoeveritwastoapulp.”
Igiggle.“Well,thefirsttime…”
“Thefirsttime!There’smorethanonefucker?”Hegrowls.Igiggleagain.
“Whysosurprised,Mr.Grey?”
Hefrownsbriefly,runsahandthroughhishair,andlooksatmeasifseeing
meinacompletelydifferentlight.Heshrugs.“Ijustam.Imean—givenyour
lackofexperience.”
Iflush.“I’vecertainlymadeupforthatsinceImetyou.”
“Youhave.”Hegrins.“Tellme.Iwanttoknow.”
Igazeintopatientgrayeyes,tryingtogaugehismood.Isthisgoingtomake
himmad,ordoeshegenuinelywanttoknow?Idon’twanthimsulking…
he’simpossiblewhenhe’ssulking.
“Youreallywantmetotellyou?”
Henodsslowlyonce,andhislipstwitchwithanamused,arrogantsmile.
“IwasbrieflyinVegaswithMomandHusbandNumberThree.Iwasintenth
grade.HisnamewasBradley,andhewasmylabpartnerinphysics.”
123|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Howoldwereyou?”
“Fifteen.”
“Andwhat’shedoingnow?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Whatbasedidhegetto?”
“Christian!”Iscold—andsuddenlyhegrabsmyknees,thenmyankles,and
tipsmeupsoIfallbackontothecouch.Heslidessmoothlyontopofme,
trappingmebeneathhim,onelegbetweenmine.It’ssosuddenthatIcryout
insurprise.Hegrabsmyhandsandraisesthemabovemyhead.
“So,thisBradley—didhegettofirstbase?”hemurmurs,runninghisnose
downthelengthofmine.Heplantssoftkissesatthecornerofmymouth.
“Yes,”Imurmuragainsthislips.Hereleasesoneofhishandssothathecan
claspmychinandholdmestillwhilehistongueinvadesmymouth,andI
surrendertohisardentkissing.
“Likethis?”Christianbreatheswhenhecomesupforair.
“No…nothinglikethat,”Imanage,asallthebloodinmybodyheadssouth.
Releasingmychin,herunshishanddownovermybodyandbackuptomy
breast.
“Didhedothis?Touchyoulikethis?”Histhumbskimsovermynipple,
throughmycamisole,softly,repeatedly,andithardensunderhisexperttouch.
“No.”Iwrithebeneathhim.
“Didhegettosecondbase?”hemurmursinmyear.Hishandmovesdown
acrossmyribs,pastmywaisttomyhip.Hetakesmyearlobebetweenhis
teethandgentlytugs.
“No,”Ibreathe.
MulderblurtsfromthetelevisionsomethingabouttheFBI’smostunwanted.
Christianpauses,leansup,andpressesmuteontheremote.Hegazesdownat
me.
“WhataboutJoeSchmonumbertwo?Didhemakeitpastsecondbase?”
124|Page
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Hiseyesaresmolderinghot…angry?Turnedon?It’sdifficulttosaywhich.
Heshiftstomysideandslideshishandbeneathmysweatpants.
“No…,”Iwhispergazingupathim,trappedinhiscarnalgaze.Christian
smiles,wickedly.
“Good.”Hishandcupsmysex.“Nounderwear,Mrs.Grey.Iapprove.”He
kissesmeagainashisfingersweavemoremagic,histhumbskimmingover
myclitoris,tantalizingme,ashepusheshisindexfingerinsidemewith
exquisiteslowness.
“We’resupposedtobemakingout.”Igroan.
Christianstills.“Ithoughtwewere?”
“No.Nosex.”
“What?”
“Nosex…”
“Nosex,huh?”Hewithdrawshishandfrommysweatpants.
“Here.”Hetracesmylipswithhisindexfinger,andItastemyslicksaltiness.
Hepusheshisfingerintomymouth,mirroringwhathewasdoingamoment
earlier.Thenshiftssohe’sbetweenmylegs,andhiserectionpushesagainst
me.Hethrusts,once,twice,andagain.Igasp,asthematerialofmy
sweatpantsrubsinjusttherightway.Hepushesoncemore,grindingintome.
“Thiswhatyouwant?”hemurmursandmoveshishipsrhythmically,rocking
againstme.
“Yes.”Imoan.
Hishandmovesbacktoconcentrateonmynippleoncemoreandhisteeth
scrapealongmyjaw.“Doyouknowhowhotyouare,Ana?”
Hisvoiceishoarseasherocksharderagainstme.Iopenmymouthto
articulatearesponseandfailmiserably,groaningloudly.Hecapturesmy
mouthoncemore,tuggingatmybottomlipwithhisteethbeforeplunginghis
tongueintomymouthagain.Hereleasesmyotherwristandmyhandstravel
greedilyuphisshouldersandintohishairashekissesme.WhenIpullonhis
hair,hegroansandraiseshiseyestomine.
“Ah…”
“Doyoulikemetouchingyou?”Iwhisper.
Hisbrowfurrowsbrieflyasifhedoesn’tunderstandthequestion.Hestops
grindingagainstme.“OfcourseIdo.Iloveyoutouchingme,125|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ana.I’mlikeastarvingmanatabanquetwhenitcomestoyourtouch.”His
voicehumswithpassionatesincerity.
Holycow…
Hekneelsbetweenmylegsanddragsmeuptohauloffmytop.I’mnaked
beneath.Grabbingthehemofhisshirt,heyanksitoverhisheadandtossesit
onthefloor,thenpullsmeontohiskneelinglap,hisarmsclaspedjustabove
mybehind.
“Touchme,”hebreathes.
Ohmy…TentativelyIreachupandbrushthetipsofmyfingersthroughthe
smatteringofchesthairoverhissternum,overhisburnscars.Heinhales
sharplyandhispupilsdilate,butit’snotwithfear.It’sasensualresponseto
mytouch.Hewatchesmeintentlyasmyfingersfloatdelicatelyoverhisskin,
firsttoonenippleandthentheother.Theypuckerbeneathmycaress.Leaning
forward,Iplantsoftkissesonhischest,andmyhandsmovetohisshoulders,
feelingthehard,sculpturedlinesofsinewandmuscle.Jeez…he’singood
shape.
“Iwantyou,”hemurmursandit’sagreenlighttomylibido.Myfingers
moveintohishair,pullinghisheadbacksoIcanclaimhismouth,firelicking
hotandhighinmybelly.Hegroansandpushesmebackontothecouch.He
sitsupandripsoffmysweatpants,undoinghisflyatthesametime.
“Homerun,”hewhispers,andinoneswiftmovehe’sinsideme.
“Ah…”Igroanandhestills,grabbingmyfacebetweenhishands.
“Iloveyou,Mrs.Grey,”hemurmursandveryslowly,verygently,hemakes
lovetome…untilIcomeapartattheseams,callinghisnameandwrapping
myselfaroundhim,neverwantingtolethimgo.
Ilaysprawledonhischest.We’reontheflooroftheTVroom.
“Youknow,wecompletelybypassedthirdbase.”Myfingerstracethelineof
hispectoralmuscles.
Helaughs.“Nexttime,Mrs.Grey.”Hekissesthetopofmyhead.Ilookupto
stareattheTVscreenwheretheendcreditsforTheX-Filesplay.Christian
reachesfortheremoteandswitchesthesoundbackon.
“Youlikedthatshow?”Iask.
“WhenIwasakid.”
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ELJAMES
Oh…Christianasakid…kickboxingandXFilesandnotouching.
“You?”heasks.
“Beforemytime.”
Christiansmilesfondlyupatme.“You’resoyoung.Ilikemakingoutwith
you,Mrs.Grey.”
“Likewise,Mr.Grey.”Ikisshischest,andweliesilentlywatchingasTheX-
Filesfinishandthecommercialscomeon.
“It’sbeenaheavenlythreeweeks.Carchasesandfiresandpsychoex-bosses
notwithstanding.Likebeinginourownprivatebubble,”Imutterdreamily.
“Hmm,”Christianhumsdeepinhisthroat.“I’mnotsureI’mreadytoshare
youwiththerestoftheworldyet.”
“Backtorealitytomorrow,”Imurmur,tryingtokeepthemelancholyfrommy
voice.
Christiansighsandrunsthehandthatisnotholdingmethroughhishair.
“Securitywillbetight—”Iputmyfingeroverhislips.Idon’twanttohear
thislectureagain.
“Iknow.I’llbegood.Ipromise.”Whichremindsme…Ishift,propping
myselfuponmyelbowstoseehimbetter.“Whywereyoushoutingat
Sawyer?”
Hestiffensimmediately.Ohshit.
“Becausewewerefollowed.”
“Thatwasn’tSawyer’sfault.”
Hegazesatmelevelly.“Theyshouldneverhaveletyougetsofarinfront.
Theyknowthat.”
Iflushguiltilyandresumemyposition,restingonhischest.Itwasmyfault.I
wantedtogetawayfromthem.
“Thatwasn’t—”
“Enough!”Christianissuddenlycurt.“Thisisnotupfordiscussion,
Anastasia.It’safact,andtheywon’tletithappenagain.”
Anastasia!IamAnastasiawhenIamintroublejustlikeathomewithmy
mother.
“Okay,”Imutter,placatinghim.Idon’twanttofight.“DidRyancatchup
withthewomanintheDodge?”
“No.AndI’mnotconvinceditwasawoman.”
“Oh?”Ilookupagain.
127|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Sawyersawsomeonewiththeirhairtiedback,butitwasabrieflook.He
assumeditwasawoman.Now,giventhatyou’veidentifiedthatfucker,
maybeitwashim.Heworehishairlikethat.”ThedisgustinChristian’svoice
ispalpable.
Idon’tknowwhattomakeofthisnews.Christianrunshishanddownmy
nakedback,distractingme.
“Ifanythinghappenedtoyou…,”hemurmurs,hiseyeswideandserious.
“Iknow,”Iwhisper.Ifeelthesameaboutyou.”Ishiveratthethought.
“Come.You’regettingcold,”hesays,sittingup.“Let’sgotobed.Wecan
coverthirdbasethere.”Hesmilesalascivioussmile,asmercurialasever,
passionate,angry,anxious,sexy—myFiftyShades.Itakehishandandhe
pullsmetomyfeet,andwithoutastitchon,Ifollowhimthroughthegreat
roomtothebedroom.
Thefollowingmorning,Christiansqueezesmyhandaswepullupoutside
SIP.Helooksverymuchthepowerfulexecutiveinhisdarknavysuitand
matchingtie,andIsmile.He’snotbeenthissmartsincetheballetinMonaco.
“Youknowyoudon’thavetodothis?”Christianmurmurs.Iamtemptedto
rollmyeyesathim.
“Iknow,”Iwhisper,notwantingtobeoverheardbySawyerandRyaninthe
frontoftheAudi.HefrownsandIsmile.
“ButIwantto,”Icontinue.“Youknowthis.”Ileanupandkisshim.His
frowndoesn’tdisappear.“What’swrong?”
HeglancesuncertainlyatRyanasSawyerclimbsoutofthecar.“I’llmiss
havingyoutomyself.”
Ireachuptocaresshisface.“Me,too.”Ikisshim.“Itwasawonderful
honeymoon.Thankyou.”
“Gotowork,Mrs.Grey.”
“You,too,Mr.Grey.”
Sawyeropensthedoor.IsqueezeChristian’shandoncemorebeforeIclimb
outontothesidewalk.AsIheadintothebuilding,Igivehimalittlewave.
Sawyerholdsopenthedoorandfollowsmein.
“Hi,Ana.”Clairebeamsfrombehindthereceptiondesk.128|Page
ELJAMES
“Claire,hello.”Ismileback.
“Youlookwonderful.Goodhoneymoon?”
“Thebest,thankyou.How’sitbeenhere?”
“OldmanRoachisthesame,butsecurityhasbeensteppedupandourserver
roomisbeingoverhauled.ButHannahwilltellyou.”
Sureshewill.IgiveClaireafriendlysmileandheadtomyoffice.Hannahis
myassistant.Sheistall,slim,andruthlesslyefficienttothepointthat
sometimesIfindheralittleintimidating.Butshe’ssweettome,inspiteofthe
factthatshe’sacoupleofyearsolder.Shehasmylattewaiting—theonly
coffeeIlethergetforme.
“Hi,Hannah,”Isaywarmly.
“Ana,howwasyourhoneymoon?”
“Fantastic.Here—foryou.”IpopthesmallbottleofperfumeIboughtforher
ontoherdesk,andsheclapsherhandswithglee.
“Oh,thankyou!”shesaysenthusiastically.“Yoururgentcorrespondenceison
yourdesk,andRoachwouldliketoseeyouatten.That’sallIhavetoreport
fornow.”
“Good.Thankyou.Andthanksforthecoffee.”Wanderingintomyoffice,I
restmybriefcaseonmydeskandgazeatthepiledupletters.Jeez,Ihavealot
todo.
Justbeforetenthere’satimidtaponmydoor.
“Comein.”
Elizabethlooksaroundthedoor.“Hi,Ana.Ijustwantedtosaywelcome
back.”
“Hey.Ihavetosay,readingthroughallthiscorrespondence,IwishIwas
backintheSouthofFrance.”
Elizabethlaughs,butherlaughterisoff,forced,andIcockmyheadtoone
sideandgazeatherlikeChristiandoestome.
“Gladyou’rebacksafely,”shesays.“I’llseeyouinafewminutes,atthe
meetingwithRoach.”
“Okay,”Imurmur,andsheshutsthedoorbehindher.Ifrownattheclosed
door.Whatwasthatabout?Ishrugitoff.Mye-mailpings—it’samessage
fromChristian.
129|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:ErrantWives
Date:August22,201109:56
To:AnastasiaSteele
Wife
Isentthee-mailbelowanditbounced.
Andit’sbecauseyouhaven’tchangedyourname.
Somethingyouwanttotellme?
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Attachment:
From:ChristianGrey
FWSubject:Bubble
Date:August22,201109:32
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
Lovecoveringallthebaseswithyou.
Haveagreatfirstdayback.
Missourbubblealready.
x
ChristianGrey
BackintheRealWorldCEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Shit.Ihitreplyimmediately.
From:AnastasiaSteele
Subject:Don’tBursttheBubble
Date:August22,201109:58
130|Page
ELJAMES
To:ChristianGrey
Husband
Iamallforabaseballmetaphorwithyou,Mr.Grey.Iwanttokeepmyname
here.
I’lexplainthisevening.
Iamgoingintoameetingnow.
Missourbubble,too…
PS:ThoughtIhadtousemyBlackberry?
AnastasiaSteele
CommissioningEditor,SIP
Thisisgoingtobesuchafight.Icanfeelit.Sighing,Igatherupmypapers
forthemeeting.
Themeetinglastsfortwohours.Allthecommissioningeditorsarethere,plus
RoachandElizabeth.Wediscusspersonnel,strategy,marketing,security,and
year-end.AsthemeetingprogressesIgrowmoreandmoreuncomfortable.
There’sasubtlechangeinhowmycolleaguesaretreatingme—adistanceand
deferencethatwasn’ttherebeforeIleftformyhoneymoon.Andfrom
Courtney,whoheadsupthenon-fictiondivision,there’sdownrighthostility.
MaybeI’mjustbeingparanoidbutitgoessomewaytoexplainingElizabeth’s
oddgreetingthismorning.
Myminddriftsbacktotheyacht,thentotheplayroom,thentotheR8
speedingawayfromthemysteryDodgeonI-5.PerhapsChristian’sright…
perhapsIcan’tdothisanymore.Thethoughtisdepressing—
thisisallI’veeverwantedtodo.IfIcan’tdothis,whatwillIdo?AsIwalk
backtomyoffice,Itrytodismissthesedarkthoughts.WhenIsitdownatmy
deskIquicklycheckmye-mails.NothingfromChristian.Icheckmy
BlackBerry…Stillnothing.Good.Atleastthere’sbeennoadversereaction
tomye-mail.Perhapswe’lldiscussthistonightaspermyrequest.Ifindthat
hardtobelieve,butignoring131|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
myuneasyfeeling,IopenthemarketingplanIwasgivenatthemeeting.
AsisourritualonaMonday,Hannahcomesintomyofficewithaplatefor
mypackedlunchcourtesyofMrs.Jones,andwesitandeatourlunches
together,discussingwhatwewanttoachieveduringtheweek.Shebringsme
uptodatewiththeofficegossip,too,which—
consideringI’vebeenawayforthreeweeks—isprettythinontheground.As
we’rechatting,there’saknockonthedoor.
“Comein.”
Roachopensthedoor,andstandingbesidehimisChristian.I’mmomentarily
struckdumb.Christianshootsmeablazinglookandstalksin,beforesmiling
politelyatHannah.
“Hello,youmustbeHannah.I’mChristianGrey,”hesays.Hannahscrambles
toherfeetandholdsoutherhand.
“Mr.Grey.H-hownicetomeetyou,”shestuttersastheyshakehands.“CanI
fetchyouacoffee?”
“Please,”hesayswarmly.Withaquickpuzzledglanceatme,shescuttlesout
oftheofficepastRoach,whostandsasdumbstruckasmeonthethresholdof
myoffice.
“Ifyou’llexcuseme,Roach,I’dlikeawordwithMs.Steele.”
ChristianhissestheSsibilantly…sarcastically.Thisiswhyhe’shere…Oh
shit.
“Ofcourse,Mr.Grey.Ana,”Roachmutters,shuttingthedoortomyofficeas
hedeparts.Irecovermypowerofspeech.
“Mr.Grey,hownicetoseeyou.”Ismile,fartoosweetly.
“Ms.Steele,mayIsitdown?”
“It’syourcompany.”IwaveatthechairHannahvacated.
“Yes,itis.”Hesmileswolfishlyatme,thesmilenotreachinghiseyes.His
toneisclipped.He’sbristlingwithtension—Icanfeelitallaroundme.Fuck.
Myheartsinks.
“Yourofficeisverysmall,”hesaysashesitsdownfacingmydesk.
“Itsuitsme.”
Heregardsmeneutrally,butIknowhe’smad.Itakeadeepbreath.Thisisnot
goingtobefun.
“SowhatcanIdoforyou,Christian?”
132|Page
ELJAMES
“I’mjustlookingovermyassets.”
“Yourassets?Allofthem?”
“Allofthem.Someofthemneedrebranding.”
“Rebranding?Inwhatway?”
“Ithinkyouknow.”Hisvoiceismenacinglyquiet.
“Please—don’ttellmeyouhaveinterruptedyourdayafterthreeweeksaway
tocomeoverhereandfightwithmeaboutmyname.”Iamnotafreaking
asset!
Heshiftsandcrosseshislegs.“Notexactlyfight.No.”
“Christian,I’mworking.”
“Lookedlikeyouweregossipingwithyourassistanttome.”
Mycheeksheat.“Weweregoingthroughourschedules,”Isnap.
“Andyouhaven’tansweredmyquestion.”
There’saknockonthedoor.“Comein!”Ishout,tooloudly.Hannahopens
thedoorandbringsinasmalltray.Milkjug,sugarbowl,coffeeinaFrench
press—she’sgoneallout.Sheplacesthetrayonmydesk.
“Thankyou,Hannah,”Imutter,embarrassedthatIhavejustshoutedso
loudly.
“Doyouneedanythingelse,Mr.Grey?”sheasksallbreathless.Iwanttoroll
myeyesather.
“No,thankyou.That’sall.”Hesmileshisdazzling,panty-droppingsmileat
her.Sheflushesandexitssimpering.Christianturnshisattentionbacktome.
“Now,Ms.Steele,wherewerewe?”
“Youwererudelyinterruptingmyworkdaytofightwithmeaboutmyname.”
Christianblinksonce—surprised,Ithink,bythevehemenceinmyvoice.
Deftly,hepicksataninvisiblepieceoflintonhiskneewithlongskilled
fingers.It’sdistracting.He’sdoingitonpurpose.Inarrowmyeyesathim.
“Iliketomaketheoddimpromptuvisit.Itkeepsmanagementontheirtoes,
wivesintheirplace.Youknow.”Heshrugs,hismouthsetinanarrogantline.
Wivesintheirplace!“Ihadnoideayoucouldsparethetime,”Isnap.
133|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Hiseyesfrost.“Whydon’tyouwanttochangeyournamehere?”heasks,his
voicedeathlyquiet.
“Christian,dowehavetodiscussthisnow?”
“I’mhere.Idon’tseewhynot.”
“Ihaveatonofworktodo,havingbeenawayforthelastthreeweeks.”
Hegazesatme,hiseyescoolandassessing—distanteven.Imarvelthathe
canappearsocoldafterlastnight,afterthelastthreeweeks.Shit.Hemustbe
somad—reallymad.Whenwillhelearnnottooverreact?
“Areyouashamedofme?”heasks,hisvoicedeceptivelysoft.What?“No!
Christian,ofcoursenot.”Iscowlathim.“Thisisaboutme—notyou.”Jeez,
he’sexasperatingsometimes.Sillyoverbearingmegalomaniac.
“Howisthisnotaboutme?”Hecockshisheadtooneside,genuinely
perplexed,someofhisdetachmentslippingashestaresatmewithwideeyes,
andIrealizethathe’shurt.Holyfuck.I’vehurthisfeelings.Ohno…he’sthe
lastpersonIwanttohurt.Ihavetomakehimseemylogic.Ihavetoexplain
myreasoningformydecision.
“Christian,whenItookthisjob,I’donlyjustmetyou,”Isaypatiently,
strugglingtofindtherightwords.“Ididn’tknowyouweregoingtobuythe
company—”
WhatcanIsayaboutthateventinourbriefhistory?Hisderangedreasonsfor
doingso—hiscontrolfreakery,hisstalkertendenciesgonemad,given
completelyfreereinbecauseheissowealthy.Iknowhewantstokeepme
safebutit’shisownershipofSIPthatisthefundamentalproblemhere.Ifhe’d
neverinterfered,Icouldcontinueasnormalandnothavetofacethe
disgruntledandwhisperedrecriminationsofmycolleagues.Iputmyheadin
myhandsjusttobreakeyecontactwithhim.
“Whyisitsoimportanttoyou?”Iask,desperatelytryingtoholdontomy
frayingtemper.Ilookupathisimpassivestare,hiseyesluminous,giving
nothingaway,hisearlierhurtnowhidden.ButevenasIaskthequestion,
deepdownIknowtheanswerbeforehesaysit.
“Iwanteveryonetoknowthatyou’remine.”
“Iamyours—look.”Iholdupmylefthand,showingmyweddingand
engagementrings.
134|Page
ELJAMES
“It’snotenough.”
“NotenoughthatImarriedyou?”Myvoiceisbarelyawhisper.Heblinksat
me,registeringthehorroronmyface.WherecanIgofromhere?Whatelse
canIdo?
“That’snotwhatImean,”hesnapsandrunsahandthroughhisoverlonghair
sothatitflopsontohisforehead.
“Whatdoyoumean?”
Heswallows.“Iwantyourworldtobeginandendwithme,”hesays,his
expressionraw.Hiscommentcompletelyderailsme.It’slikehe’spunched
mehardinthestomach,windingandwoundingme.Andthevisioncomesto
mindofasmall,frightened,copper-hairedgrayeyedboyindirty,mismatched,
ill-fittingclothes.
“Itdoes,”Isaywithoutguile,becauseit’sthetruth.“I’mjusttryingto
establishacareer,andIdon’twanttotradeonyourname.Ihavetodo
something,Christian.Ican’tstayimprisonedatEscalaorthenewhousewith
nothingtodo.I’llgocrazy.I’llsuffocate.I’vealwaysworked,andIenjoy
this.Thisismydreamjob;it’sallI’veeverwanted.Butdoingthisdoesn’t
meanIloveyouless.Youaretheworldtome.”Mythroatswellsandtears
prickthebackofmyeyes.Imustnotcry,nothere.Irepeatitoverandoverin
myhead.Imustnotcry.Imustnotcry.
Hestaresatme,sayingnothing.Thenafrowncrosseshisfaceasifhe’s
consideringwhatI’vesaid.
“Isuffocateyou?”Hisvoiceisbleak,andit’sanechoofaquestionhe’sasked
mebefore.
“No…yes…no.”Thisissuchanexasperatingconversation—notonethatI
wanttohavenow,here.Iclosemyeyesandrubmyforehead,tryingto
fathomhowwegottothis.
“Look,weweretalkingaboutmyname.Iwanttokeepmynamehere
becauseIwanttoputsomedistancebetweenyouandme…butonlyhere,
that’sall.YouknoweveryonethinksIgotthejobbecauseofyou,whenthe
realityis—”Istop,whenhiseyeswiden.Ohno…itisbecauseofhim?
“Doyouwanttoknowwhyyougotthejob,Anastasia?”
Anastasia?Shit.“What?Whatdoyoumean?”
Heshiftsinhischairasifsteelinghimself.DoIwanttoknow?
135|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“ThemanagementheregaveyouHyde’sjobtobabysit.Theydidn’twantthe
expenseofhiringaseniorexecutivewhenthecompanywasmid-sale.They
hadnoideawhatthenewownerwoulddowithitonceitpassedintohis
ownership,andwisely,theydidn’twantanexpensiveredundancy.Sothey
gaveyouHyde’sjobtocaretakeuntilthenewowner”—hepauses,andhis
lipstwitchinanironicsmile—“namelyme,tookover.”
Holycrap!“Whatareyousaying?”Soitwasbecauseofhim.Fuck!
I’mhorrified.
Hesmilesandshakeshisheadatmyalarm.“Relax.You’vemorethanrisento
thechallenge.You’vedoneverywell.”There’sthetiniesthintofprideinhis
voice,andit’salmostmyundoing.
“Oh,”Imurmurincoherently,reelingfromthisnews.Isitrightbackinmy
chair,open-mouthed,staringathim.Heshiftsagain.
“Idon’twanttosuffocateyou,Ana.Idon’twanttoputyouinagildedcage.
Well…”Hepauses,hisfacedarkening.“Well,therationalpartofme
doesn’t.”Hestrokeshischinthoughtfullyashismindconcoctssomeplan.
Oh,whatishethinking?Christianlooksupsuddenly,asifhe’shadaeureka
moment.
“SooneofthereasonsI’mhere—apartfromdealingwithmyerrantwife,”he
says,narrowinghiseyes,“istodiscusswhatIamgoingtodowiththis
company.”
Errantwife!Iamnoterrant,andI’mnotanasset!IscowlatChristianagain
andthethreatoftearssubsides.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”Iinclinemyheadtooneside,mirroringhim,
andIcan’thelpmysarcastictone.Hislipstwitchwiththehintofasmile.
Jeez—changeofmood,again!HowcanIeverkeepupwithMr.Mercurial?
“I’mrenamingthecompany—toGreyPublishing.”
Holyshit.
“Andinayear’stime,itwillbeyours.”
What?Mymouthdropsopenoncemore—widerthistime.
“Thisismyweddingpresenttoyou.”
Ishutmymouththenopenit,tryingtoarticulatesomething—butthere’s
nothingthere.Mymindisblank.
“So,doIneedtochangethenametoSteelePublishing?”
136|Page
ELJAMES
He’sserious.Holyfuck.
“Christian,”Iwhisperwhenmybrainfinallyreconnectswithmymouth.
“Yougavemeawatch…Ican’trunabusiness.”
Hetiltshisheadtoonesideagainandgivesmeacensoriousfrown.
“Iranmyownbusinessfromtheageoftwenty-one.”
“Butyou’re…you.Controlfreakandwhiz-kidextraordinaire.JeezChristian,
youmajoredineconomicsatHarvardbeforeyoudroppedout.Atleastyou
havesomeidea.Isoldpaintandcabletiesforthreeyearsonapart-timebasis,
forheaven’ssake.I’veseensolittleoftheworld,andIknownextto
nothing!”Myvoicerises,growinglouderandhigher,asIcompletemytirade.
“You’realsothemostwell-readpersonIknow,”hecountersearnestly.“You
loveagoodbook.Youcouldn’tleaveyourjobwhilewewereonour
honeymoon.Youreadhowmanymanuscripts?Four?”
“Five,”Iwhisper.
“Andyouwrotefullreportsonallofthem.You’reaverybrightwoman,
Anastasia.I’msureyou’llmanage.”
“Areyoucrazy?”
“Crazyforyou,”hewhispers.
What?AndIsnortbecauseit’stheonlyexpressionmybodycanmake.He
narrowshiseyes.
“You’llbealaughingstock.Buyingacompanyforthelittlewoman,whohas
onlyhadafulltimejobforafewmonthsofheradultlife.”
“DoyouthinkIgiveafuckwhatpeoplethink?Besides,youwon’tbeonyour
own.”
Igapeathim.Hereallyhaslosthismarblesthistime.“Christian,I…”Iput
myheadinmyhands—myemotionshavebeenthroughawringer.Whatishe
thinking?AndfromsomewheredarkanddeepinsideIhavethesudden,
inappropriateneedtolaugh.WhenIlookupathimagain,hiseyeswiden.
“Somethingamusingyou,MissSteele?”
“Yes.You.”
Hiseyeswidenfurther,shockedbutalsoamused.“Laughingatyour
husband?Thatwillneverdo.Andyou’rebitingyourlip.”Hiseyesdarken…
inthatway.Ohno—Iknowthatlook.Sultry,seductive,salacious…No,no,
no!Nothere.
137|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Don’teventhinkaboutit,”Iwarn,alarmclearinmyvoice.
“Thinkaboutwhat,Anastasia?”
“Iknowthatlook.We’reatwork.”
Heleansforward,hiseyesgluedtomine,moltengrayandhungry.Holyshit!
Iswallowinstinctively.“We’reinasmall,reasonablysoundproofedoffice
withalockabledoor.”
“Grossmoralturpitude.”Ienunciateeachwordcarefully.
“Notwithyourhusband.”
“Withmyboss’sboss’sboss,”Ihiss.
“You’remywife.”
“Christian,no.Imeanit.YoucanfuckmesevenshadesofSundaythis
evening.Butnotnow.Nothere!”
Heblinksandnarrowshiseyesoncemore.Thenunexpectedlyhelaughs.
“SevenshadesofSunday?”Hearchesaneyebrow,intrigued.“Imayholdyou
tothat,Ms.Steele.”
“Oh,stopwiththeMs.Steele!”Isnapandthumpthedesk,startlingusboth.
“Forheaven’ssake,Christian.Ifitmeanssomuchtoyou,I’llchangemy
name!”
Hismouthpopsopenasheinhalessharply.Andthenhegrins,aradiant,all-
teeth-showing,joyousgrin.Wow…
“Good.”Heclapshishands,andallofasuddenhestands.Whatnow?
“Missionaccomplished.Now,Ihaveworktodo.Ifyou’llexcuseme,Mrs.
Grey.”
What?Gah—thismanissomaddening!“But—”
“Butwhat,Mrs.Grey?”
Isag.“Justgo.”
“Iintendto.I’llseeyouthisevening.I’mlookingforwardtosevenshadesof
Sunday.”
Iscowl.
“Oh,andIhaveastackofbusiness-relatedsocialengagementscomingup,
andI’dlikeyoutoaccompanyme.”
Igapeathim.Willyoujustgo?
“I’llhaveAndreacallHannahtoputthedatesinyourcalendar.Thereare
somepeopleyouneedtomeet.YoushouldgetHannahtohandleyour
schedulefromnowon.”
138|Page
ELJAMES
“Okay,”Imumble,completelybemused,bewilderedandshellshocked.He
leansovermydesk.Whatnow?Iamcaughtinhishypnoticgaze.
“Lovedoingbusinesswithyou,Mrs.Grey.”HeleansincloserasIsit
paralyzed,andheplantsasofttenderkissonmylips.“Laters,baby,”he
murmurs.Hestandsabruptly,winksatme,andleaves.Ilaymyheadonmy
desk,feelinglikeI’vebeenrunoverbyafreighttrain—thefreighttrainthatis
mybelovedhusband.Hehastobethemostfrustrating,annoying,contrary
manontheplanet.Isitupandfranticallyrubmyeyes.WhathaveIjust
agreedto?Okay,AnaGreyrunningSIP—Imean,GreyPublishing.Theman
isinsane.There’saknockonthedoor,andHannahpokesherheadaround.
“Youokay?”sheasks.
Ijuststareather.Shefrowns.
“Iknowyoudon’tlikemedoingthis—butcanImakeyousometea?”
Inod.
“TwiningsEnglishBreakfast,weakandblack?”
Inod.
“Comingrightup,Ana.”
Istareblanklyatmycomputerscreen,stillinshock.HowcanImakehim
understand?E-mail!
From:AnastasiaSteele
Subject:NOTANASSET!
Date:August22,201114:23
To:ChristianGrey
Mr.Grey
Nexttimeyoucomeandseeme,makeanappointment,soIcanatleasthave
somepriorwarningofyouradolescentoverbearingmegalomania.
Yours
AnastasiaGrey<–—pleasenotename.
139|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:SevenShadesofSunday
Date:August22,201114:34
To:AnastasiaSteele
MyDearMrs.Grey(emphasisonMy)
WhatcanIsayinmydefense?Iwasintheneighborhood.Andno,youare
notanasset,youaremybelovedwife.Asever,youmakemyday.
ChristianGrey
CEO&OverbearingMegalomaniac,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
He’stryingtobefunny,butIaminnomoodtolaugh.Itakeadeepbreath
andgobacktomycorrespondence.
ChristianisquietwhenIclimbintothecarthatevening.
“Hi,”Imurmur.
“Hi,”heresponds,warily—asheshould.
“Disruptanyoneelse’sworktoday?”Iasktoosweetly.Aghostofasmile
crosseshisface.“OnlyFlynn’s.”
Oh.
“Nexttimeyougotoseehim,I’llgiveyoualistoftopicsIwantcovered,”I
hissathim.
“Youseemoutofsorts,Mrs.Grey.”
Iglaresteadilyinfrontofme,atthebacksofRyanandSawyer’sheads.
Christianshiftsbesideme.
“Hey,”hesayssoftlyandreachesformyhand.Allafternoon,whenIshould
havebeenconcentratingonwork,Iwastryingtofigureoutwhattosayto
him.ButIbecameangrierandangrierwitheachpassinghour.I’vehad
enoughofhiscavalier,petulant,andfranklychildish140|Page
ELJAMES
behavior.Isnatchmyhandoutofhis—inacavalier,petulant,andchildish
manner.
“You’remadatme?”hewhispers.
“Yes,”Ihiss.Foldingmyarmsprotectivelyacrossmybody,Igazeoutmy
window.Heshiftsbesidemeoncemore,butIwillmyselfnottolookathim.I
don’tunderstandwhyI’msomadathim—butIam.Reallyfuckingmad.
AssoonaswepullupoutsideEscala,Ibreakprotocolandleapoutofthecar
withmybriefcase.Istompintothebuilding,notcheckingtoseewhois
following.Ryanscuttlesintothefoyerbehindmeanddashestotheelevator
topressthecallbutton.
“What?”IsnapwhenI’malongsidehim.Hischeeksredden.
“Apologies,ma’am,”hemutters.
Christiancomesandstandsbesidemetowaitfortheelevator,andRyan
retreats.
“Soit’snotjustmeyou’remadat?”Christianmurmursdryly.Iglareupat
himandseeatraceofasmileonhisface.
“Areyoulaughingatme?”Inarrowmyeyes.
“Iwouldn’tdare,”hesays,holdinghishandsuplikeI’mthreateninghimat
gunpoint.He’sinhisnavysuit,lookingcrispandcleanwithfloppysex-hair
andaguilelessexpression.
“Youneedahaircut,”Imutter.Turningawayfromhim,Istepintothe
elevator.
“DoI?”hesayswhilebrushinghishairoffhisforehead.Hefollowsmein.
“Yes.”Itapthecodeforourapartmentintothekeypad.
“Soyou’retalkingtomenow?”
“Just.”
“Whatexactlyareyoumadabout?Ineedanindication,”heaskscautiously.
Iturnandgapeathim.
“Doyoureallyhavenoidea?Surely,forsomeonesobright,youmusthavean
inkling?Ican’tbelieveyou’rethatobtuse.”
Hetakesanalarmedstepback.“Youreallyaremad.Ithoughtwehadsorted
allthisinyouroffice,”hemurmurs,perplexed.
“Christian,Ijustcapitulatedtoyourpetulantdemands.That’sall.”
141|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
TheelevatordoorsopenandIstormout.Taylorisstandinginthehallway.He
takesastepbackandquicklyshutshismouthasIsteampasthim.
“Hi,Taylor,”Imutter.
“Mrs.Grey,”hemurmurs.
Droppingmybriefcaseinthehallway,Iheadintothegreatroom.Mrs.Jones
isatthestove.
“Goodevening,Mrs.Grey.”
“Hi,Mrs.Jones,”Imutteroncemore.Iheadstraighttothefridgeandpullout
abottleofwhitewine.Christianfollowsmeintothekitchenandwatchesme
likeahawkasItakeaglassdownfromthecupboard.Heremoveshisjacket
andcasuallyplacesitonthecountertop.
“Doyouwantadrink?”Iasksupersweetly.
“Nothanks,”hesays,nottakinghiseyesoffme,andIknowthathe’s
helpless.Hedoesnotknowwhattodowithme.It’scomicalononeleveland
tragiconanother.Well,screwhim!Iamhavingtroublelocatingmy
compassionateselfsinceourmeetingthisafternoon.Slowly,heremoveshis
tiethenopensthetopbuttonofhisshirt.Ipourmyselfalargeglassof
sauvignonblanc,andChristianrunsahandthroughhishair.WhenIturn
around,Mrs.Joneshasdisappeared.Shit!
She’smyhumanshield.Itakeaslugofwine.Hmm.Ittastesgood.
“Stopthis,”Christianwhispers.Hetakesthetwostepsbetweenussohe’s
standinginfrontofme.Gentlyhetucksmyhairbehindmyearandcaresses
myearlobewithhisfingertips,sendingashiverthroughme.IsthiswhatI’ve
missedallday?Histouch?Ishakemyhead,causinghimtoreleasemyear
andgazeupathim.
“Talktome,”hemurmurs.
“What’sthepoint?Youdon’tlistentome.”
“YesIdo.You’reoneofthefewpeopleIdolistento.”
Itakeanotherswigofwine.
“Isthisaboutyourname?”
“Yesandno.It’showyoudealtwiththefactthatIdisagreedwithyou.”I
glareupathim,expectinghimtobeangered.Hisbrowfurrows.“Ana,you
knowIhave…issues.It’shardformetoletgowhereyou’reconcerned.You
knowthat.”
“ButI’mnotachild,andI’mnotanasset.”
142|Page
ELJAMES
“Iknow.”Hesighs.
“ThenstoptreatingmeasthoughIam,”Iwhisper,imploringhim.Hebrushes
thebackofhisfingersdownmycheekandrunsthetipofhisthumbacross
mybottomlip.
“Don’tbemad.You’resoprecioustome.Likeapricelessasset,likeachild,”
hewhispers,asomberreverentexpressiononhisface.Hiswordsdistractme.
LikeachildPreciouslikeachild…achildwouldbeprecioustohim!
“I’mneitherofthosethings,Christian.I’myourwife.IfyouwerehurtthatI
wasn’tgoingtotakeyourname,youshouldhavesaid.”
“Hurt?”Hefrownsdeeply,andIknowthathe’sexploringthepossibilityin
hismind.Hestraightenssuddenly,stillfrowning,andglancesquicklyathis
wristwatch.“Thearchitectwillbehereinjustunderanhour.Weshouldeat.”
Ohno.Igroaninwardly.Hehasn’tansweredme,andnowIhavetodealwith
GiaMatteo.Myshittydayjustgotshittier.IscowlatChristian.
“Thisdiscussionisn’tfinished,”Imutter.
“Whatelseistheretodiscuss?”
“Youcouldsellthecompany.”
Christiansnorts.“Sellit?”
“Yes.”
“YouthinkI’dfindabuyerintoday’smarket?”
“Howmuchdiditcostyou?”
“Itwasrelativelycheap.”Histoneisguarded.
“Soifitfolds?”
Hesmirks.“We’llsurvive.ButIwon’tletitfold,Anastasia.Notwhileyou’re
there.”
“AndifIleave?”
“Anddowhat?”
“Idon’tknow.Somethingelse.”
“You’vealreadysaidthisisyourdreamjob.AndforgivemeifI’mwrong,but
IpromisedbeforeGod,ReverendWalsh,andacongregationofournearest
anddearesttocherishyou,upholdyourhopesanddreams,andkeepyousafe
atmyside.”
“Quotingyourweddingvowstomeisnotplayingfair.”
143|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’veneverpromisedtoplayfairwhereyou’reconcerned.Besides,”
headds,“you’vewieldedyourvowsatmelikeaweaponbefore.”
Iscowlathim.Thisistrue.
“Anastasia,ifyou’restillangrywithme,takeitoutonmeinbedlater.”His
voiceissuddenlylowandfullofsensuallonging,hiseyesheated.
What?Bed?How?
Hesmilesindulgentlydownatmyexpression.Isheexpectingmetotiehim
up?Holycrap!MyinnergoddessremovesheriPodearbudsandstarts
listeningwithraptattention.
“SevenshadesofSunday,”hewhispers.“Lookingforwardtoit.”
Whoa!
“Gail!”heshoutsabruptly,andfoursecondslater,Mrs.Jonesappears.Where
wasshe?Taylor’soffice?Listening?Ohjeez.
“Mr.Grey?”
“We’dliketoeatnow,please.”
“Verygood,sir.”
Christiandoesn’ttakehiseyesoffme.HewatchesmevigilantlyasifI’m
someexoticcreatureabouttobolt.Itakeasipofmywine.
“IthinkI’lljoinyouinaglass,”hesayssighing,andrunsahandthroughhis
hairagain.
“You’renotgoingtofinish?”
“No.”Igazedownatmybarelytouchedplateoffettuccinitoavoid
Christian’sdarkeningexpression.Beforehecansayanything,Istandand
clearourplatesfromthediningtable.
“Giawillbewithusshortly,”Imutter.Christian’smouthtwistsinanunhappy
scowl,buthesaysnothing.
“I’lltakethose,Mrs.Grey,”saysMrs.JonesasIwalkintothekitchen.
“Thankyou.”
“Youdidn’tlikeit?”sheasks,concerned.
“Itwasfine.I’mjustnothungry.”
Givingmeasmallsympatheticsmile,sheturnstoclearmyplateandput
everythinginthedishwasher.
144|Page
ELJAMES
“I’mgoingtomakeacoupleofcalls,”Christianannounces,givingmean
assessinglookbeforehedisappearsintohisstudy.Iletoutasighofreliefand
headtoourbedroom.Dinnerwasawkward.I’mstillmadatChristian,andhe
doesn’tseemtothinkhe’sdoneanythingwrong.Hashe?Mysubconscious
cocksaneyebrowatmeandgazesbenignlyoverherhalf-moonglasses.Yes,
hehas.He’smadeitevenmoreawkwardformeatwork.Hedidn’twaitto
discussthisissuewithmewhenwewereintherelativeprivacyofourown
home.HowwouldhefeelifIcamebargingintohisoffice,layingdownthe
law?Andtocapitall,hewantstogivemeSIP!HowthehellcouldIruna
company?Iknownexttonothingaboutbusiness.IgazeoutattheSeattle
skylinebathedinthepearlypinklightofdusk.Andasusual,hewantsto
solveourdifferencesinthebedroom…um…foyer…playroom…TV
room…kitchencountertop…Stop!Italwayscomesbacktosexwithhim.
Sexishiscopingmechanism.
Iwanderintothebathroomandscowlatmyreflectioninthemirror.Coming
backtotherealworldishard.Wemanagedtoskateoverallourdifferences
whilewewereinourbubblebecauseweweresowrappedupineachother.
Butnow?BrieflyIamdraggedbacktomywedding,rememberingmy
concernsthatday—marryinhaste…No,Imustn’tthinklikethis.Iknewhe
wasFiftyShadeswhenImarriedhim.Ijusthavetohanginthereandtryto
talkthisthroughwithhim.Isquintatmyselfinthemirror.Ilookpale,and
nowIhavethatwomantodealwith.
I’mwearingmygraypencilskirtandasleevelessblouse.Right!Myinner
goddessgetsoutherharlot-rednailpolish.Iundotwobuttons,exposinga
littlecleavage.Iwashmyfacethencarefullyredomymakeup,applyingmore
mascarathanusualandputtingextraglossonmylips.Bendingdown,Ithen
brushmyhairvigorouslyfromroottotip.WhenIstand,myhairisachestnut
hazearoundmethattumblestomybreasts.Ituckitartfullybehindmyears
andgoinsearchofmypumps,ratherthanmyflats.
WhenIreemergeintothegreatroom,Christianhasthehouseplansspread
outonthediningtable.Hehasmusicplayingthroughthesoundsystem.It
stopsmeinmytracks.
“Mrs.Grey,”hesayswarmlythenlooksquizzicallyatme.145|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“What’sthis?”Iask.Themusicisstunning.
“Fauré’sRequiem.Youlookdifferent,”hesays,distracted.
“Oh.I’venothearditbefore.”
“It’sverycalming,relaxing,”hesaysandraisesaneyebrow.“Haveyoudone
somethingtoyourhair?”
“Brushedit,”Imutter.I’mtransportedbythehauntingvoices.Abandoning
theplansonthetable,hewalkstowardme,aslowsaunterintimetothe
music.
“Dancewithme?”hemurmurs.
“Tothis?It’sarequiem.”Isqueak,shocked.
“Yes.”Hepullsmeintohisarmsandholdsme,buryinghisnoseinmyhair
andswayinggentlyfromsidetoside.Hesmellshisheavenlyself.
Oh…I’vemissedhim.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhimandfighttheurgetocry.
Whyareyousoinfuriating?
“Ihatefightingwithyou,”hewhispers.
“Well,stopbeingsuchanarse.”
Hechucklesandthecaptivatingsoundreverberatesthroughhischest.He
tightenshisholdonme.“Arse?”
“Ass.”
“Ipreferarse.”
“Youshould.Itsuitsyou.”
Helaughsoncemoreandkissesthetopofmyhead.
“Arequiem?”Imurmuralittleshockedthatwearedancingtoit.Heshrugs.
“It’sjustalovelypieceofmusic,Ana.”
Taylorcoughsdiscreetlyattheentranceway,andChristianreleasesme.
“MissMatteoishere,”hesays.
Ohjoy!
“Showherin,”Christiansays.HereachesoverandclaspsmyhandasMiss
GiaMatteoenterstheroom.
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ChapterEight
GiaMatteoisagood-lookingwoman—atall,good-lookingwoman.She
wearshershort,salon-blond,perfectlylayeredandcoiffedhairlikea
sophisticatedcrown.She’sdressedinapalegraypantsuit;theslacksand
fittedjackethugherlushcurves.Herclotheslookexpensive.Atthebaseof
herthroat,asolitarydiamondglints,matchingthesinglecaratstudsinher
ears.Sheiswellgroomed—oneofthosewomenwhogrewupwithmoney
andbreeding,thoughherbreedingseemstobelackingthisevening;herpale
blueblouseisundonetoofar.Likemine.Iflush.
“Christian.Ana.”Shebeams,showingperfectwhiteteeth,andholdsouta
manicuredhandtoshakefirstChristian’s,thenmyhand.ItmeansIhaveto
releaseChristian’shandtoreciprocate.She’safractionshorterthanChristian,
butthenshe’sinkillerheels.
“Gia,”Christiansayspolitely.Ismilecoolly.
“Youbothlooksowellafteryourhoneymoon,”shesayssmoothly,herbrown
eyesgazingatChristianthroughlongmascaraedlashes.Christianputshis
armaroundme,holdingmeclose.
“Wehadawonderfultime,thankyou.”Hebrusheshislipsagainstmytemple,
takingmebysurprise.
See…he’smine.Annoying—infuriating,even—butmine.Igrinupathim.
RightnowIreallyloveyou,ChristianGrey.Islipmyhandaroundhiswaist
thenintohisrearpocketofhispantsandsqueezehisbehind.Giagivesusa
thinsmile.
“Haveyoumanagedtolookovertheplans?”
“Wehave,”Imurmur.IgazeupatChristian,whogrinsdownatme,one
eyebrowraisedinwryamusement.Amusedatwhat?MyreactiontoGiaor
mesqueezinghisbutt?
“Please,”Christiansays.“Theplansarehere.”Hegesturestowardthedining
table.Takingmyhand,heleadsmetoit,Giafollowinginourwake.Ifinally
remembermymanners.
“Wouldyoulikesomethingtodrink?”Iask.“Aglassofwine?”
147|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Thatwouldbelovely,”Giasays.“Drywhiteifyouhaveit.”
Shit!Sauvignonblanc—that’sadrywhite,isn’tit?Reluctantlyleavingmy
husband’sside,Iheadovertothekitchen.IheartheiPodhissasChristian
switchesoffthemusic.
“Wouldyoulikesomemorewine,Christian?”Icall.
“Please,baby,”hecroons,grinningatme.Wow,hecanbesoswoonworthyat
timesyetsoaggravatingatothers.
Reachinguptoopenthecupboard,I’mawarehiseyesareonme,andI’m
grippedbytheuncannyfeelingthatChristianandIareputtingonashow,
playingagametogether—butthistimewe’reonthesamesidepittedagainst
Ms.Matteo.Doesheknow?Doesheknowthatshe’sattractedtohimandis
beingtooobviousaboutit?ItgivesmeasmallrushofpleasurewhenIrealize
maybehe’stryingtoreassureme.Ormaybehe’sjustsendingamessageloud
andcleartothiswomanthathe’staken.
Mine.Yeah,bitch—mine.Myinnergoddessiswearinghergladiatrixoutfit,
andshe’stakingnoprisoners.SmilingtomyselfIcollectthreeglassesfrom
thecupboard,taketheopenedbottleofsauvignonblancfromthefridge,and
placethemallonthebreakfastbar.Giaisleaningoverthetablewhile
Christianstandsbesideherandpointsatsomethingontheplans.
“IthinkAnahassomeopinionsontheglasswall,butgenerallywe’reboth
pleasedwiththeideasyou’vecomeupwith.”
“Oh,I’mglad,”Giagushes,obviouslyrelieved,andasshesaysitshereaches
outtobrieflytouchhisarminasmall,flirtygesture.Christianimmediately
stiffenssubtly.Shedoesn’tevenseemtonotice.
Leavehimthefuckalone,lady.Hedoesn’tliketobetouched.Stepping
casuallyasidesohe’soutofherreach,Christianturnstome.“Thirstyhere,”
hesays.
“Comingrightup.”Heisplayingthegame.Shemakeshimuncomfortable.
Whydidn’tIseethatbefore?That’swhyIdon’tlikeher.He’susedtohow
womenreacttohim.I’veseenitoftenenough,andusuallyhethinksnothing
ofit.Touchingissomethingelse.Well,Mrs.Greytotherescue.
Ihastilypourthewine,gatherallthreeglassesinmyhandsandhurrybackto
myknightindistress.OfferingaglasstoGia,Ideliberatelypositionmyself
betweenthem.Shesmilescourteouslyas148|Page
ELJAMES
sheacceptsit.IhandthesecondtoChristian,whotakesiteagerly,his
expressiononeofamusedgratitude.
“Cheers,”Christiansaystousboth,butlookingatme.GiaandIraiseour
glassesandanswerinunison.Itakeawelcomesipofwine.
“Ana,youhavesomeissueswiththeglasswall?”Giaasks.
“Yes.Iloveit—don’tgetmewrong.ButIwashopingthatwecould
incorporateitmoresympatheticallyintothehouse.Afterall,Ifellinlove
withthehouseasitwas,andIdon’twanttomakeanyradicalchanges.”
“Isee.”
“Ijustwantittobemoresympathetic.Moreinkeepingwiththeoriginal
house.”IglanceupatChristian,whoisgazingatmethoughtfully.
“Nomajorrenovations?”hemurmurs.
“No.”Ishakemyheadtoemphasizemypoint.
“Youlikeitasitis?”
“Mostly,yes.IalwaysknewitjustneededsomeTLC.”
Christian’seyesglowwarmly.
Giaglancesatthepairofus,andhercheekspink.“Okay,”shesays.
“IthinkIgetwhereyou’recomingfrom,Ana.Howaboutifweretainthe
glasswall,buthaveitopenoutontoalargerdeckthat’sinkeepingwiththe
Mediterraneanstyle.Wehavethestoneterracetherealready.Wecanputin
pillarsinmatchingstone,widelyspacedsoyou’llstillhavetheview.Adda
glassroof,ortileitaspertherestofthehouse.It’llalsomakeashelteredal
frescodiningandseatedarea.”
Gottogivethewomanherdue…she’sgood.
“Orinsteadofthedeck,wecouldincorporateawoodcolorofyourchoice
intotheglassdoors—thatmighthelptokeeptheMediterraneanspirit,”she
continues.
“LikethebrightblueshuttersintheSouthofFrance,”ImurmurtoChristian,
whoiswatchingmeintently.Hetakesasipofwineandshrugs,very
noncommittal.Hmm.Hedoesn’tlikethatideabuthedoesn’toverruleme,
shoutmedownormakemefeelstupid.God,thismanisamassof
contradictions.Hiswordsfromyesterdaycometomind:“Iwantthishouseto
bethewayyouwant.Whateveryouwant.It’syours.”Hewantsmetobe
happy—happyineverythingIdo.Deep149|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
downIthinkIknowthis.It’sjust—Istopmyself.Don’tthinkaboutour
argumentnow.Mysubconsciousglaresatme.GiaislookingatChristian,
waitingforhimtomakethedecision.Iwatchasherpupilsdilateandher
glossedlipspart.Hertonguedartsquicklyoverhertoplipbeforeshetakesa
sipofherwine.WhenIturntoChristian,he’sstilllookingatme—notather
atall.Yes!Myinnergoddessfistpumpstheair.Iamgoingtohavewords
withMs.Matteo.
“Ana,whatdoyouwanttodo?”Christianmurmurs,veryclearlydeferringto
me.
“Ilikethedeckidea.”
“Me,too.”
IturnbacktoGia.Hey,lady,lookatme,nothim.I’mtheonemakingthe
decisionsonthis.“IthinkI’dliketoseereviseddrawingsshowingthebigger
deckandpillarsthatareinkeepingwiththehouse.”
Reluctantly,Giadragshergreedyeyesawayfrommyhusbandandsmiles
downatme.DoesshethinkI’mnotgoingtonotice?
“Sure,”sheacquiescespleasantly.“Anyotherissues?”
Otherthanyoueye-fuckingmyhusband?“Christianwantstoremodelthe
mastersuite,”Imurmur.
There’sadiscreetcoughfromtheentrancetothegreatroom.Wethreeturnas
onetofindTaylorstandingthere.
“Taylor?”Christianasks.
“Ineedtoconferwithyouonanurgentmatter,Mr.Grey.”
ChristianclaspsmyshouldersfrombehindandaddressesGia.
“Mrs.Greyisinchargeofthisproject.Shehasabsolutecarteblanche.
Whatevershewants,it’shers.Icompletelytrustherinstincts—she’svery
shrewd.”Hisvoicealterssubtly.InitIhearprideandaveiledwarning—a
warningtoGia?
Hetrustsmyinstincts?Oh,thisman’sexasperating.Myinstinctslethimrun
roughshodovermyfeelingsthisafternoon.Ishakemyheadinfrustrationbut
I’mgratefulthathe’stellingMissProvocative-AndUnfortunately-Good-At-
Her-Jobjustwho’sincharge.Reachingup,Icaresshishandasitrestsonmy
shoulder.
“Ifyou’llexcuseme.”Christiansqueezesmyshouldersbeforefollowing
Taylor.Iwonderidlywhat’sgoingon.
“So—themastersuite?”Giaasksnervously.
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Igazeupather,pausingforamomenttoensurethatChristianandTaylorare
outofearshot.ThencallingonallmyinnerstrengthandthefactthatI’ve
beenseriouslypiquedforthelastfivehours,Iletherhaveit.
“You’rerighttobenervous,Gia,becauserightnowyourworkonthisproject
hangsinthebalance.ButI’msurewe’llbefineaslongasyoukeepyour
handsoffmyhusband.”
Shegasps.
“Otherwise,you’refired.Understand?”Ienunciateeachwordclearly.
Sheblinksrapidly,utterlystunned.ShecannotbelievewhatI’vesaid.I
cannotbelievewhatI’vejustsaid.ButIholdmyground,gazingimpassively
intoherwideningbrowneyes.
Don’tbackdown.Don’tbackdown!I’velearnedthismaddeningimpassive
expressionfromChristianwhodoesimpassivelikenooneelse.Iknowthat
renovatingtheGreys’mainresidenceisaprestigiousprojectforGia’s
architecturalfirm—aresplendentfeatherinhercap.Shecan’tlosethis
commission.AndrightnowIdon’tgiveahootthatshe’sElliot’sfriend.
“Ana—Mrs.Grey—I—I’msosorry.Inever—”Sheflushes,unsurewhatelse
shecansay.
“Letmebeclear.Myhusbandisnotinterestedinyou.”
“Ofcourse,”shemurmurs,theblooddrainingfromherface.
“AsIsaid,Ijustwantedtobeclear.”
“Mrs.Grey,Isincerelyapologizeifyouthink…Ihave—”Shestops,still
flounderingforsomethingtosay.
“Good.Aslongasweunderstandeachother,we’llbefine.Now,I’llletyou
knowwhatwehaveinmindforthemastersuite,thenI’dlikearundownon
allthematerialsyouintendtouse.Asyouknow,ChristianandIare
determinedthatthishouseshouldbeecologicallysustainable,andI’dliketo
reassurehimastowhereallthematerialsarecomingfromandwhatthey
are.”
“Ofcourse,”shestutters,wide-eyedandfranklyalittleintimidatedbyme.
Thisisafirst.Myinnergoddessrunsaroundthearena,wavingtothefrenzied
crowd.
Giapatsherhairintoplace,andIrealizethisisanervousgesture.151|Pag
e
FiftyShadesFreed
“Themastersuite?”shepromptsanxiously,hervoiceabreathlesswhisper.
NowthatIhavetheupperhand,Ifeelmyselfrelaxforthefirsttimesincemy
meetingwithChristianthisafternoon.Icandothis.Myinnergoddessis
celebratingherinnerbitch.
Christianjoinsusjustaswearefinishingup.
“Alldone?”heasks.HeputshisarmaroundmywaistandturnstoGia.
“Yes,Mr.Grey,”Giasmilesbrightly,thoughhersmilelooksbrittle.
“I’llhavetherevisedplanstoyouinacoupleofdays.”
“Excellent.You’rehappy?”heasksmedirectly,hiseyeswarmandprobing.I
nodandblushforsomereasonthatIdon’tunderstand.
“I’dbetterbegoing,”Giasaysagaintoobrightly.Sheoffersherhandtome
firstthistime,thentoChristian.
“Untilnexttime,Gia,”Imurmur.
“Yes,Mrs.Grey.Mr.Grey.”
Taylorappearsattheentranceofthegreatroom.
“Taylorwillseeyouout.”Myvoiceisloudenoughforhimtohear.Patting
herhaironcemore,sheturnsonherhighheelsandleavesthegreatroom,
followedcloselybyTaylor.
“Shewasnoticeablycooler,”Christiansays,lookingquizzicallyatme.
“Wasshe?Ididn’tnotice.”Ishrug,tryingtoremainneutral.“WhatdidTaylor
want?”IaskpartlybecauseI’mcuriousandpartlybecauseIwanttochange
thesubject.
Frowning,Christianreleasesmeandbeginstorolluptheplansonthetable.
“ItwasaboutHyde.”
“WhataboutHyde?”Iwhisper.
“It’snothingtoworryabout,Ana.”Abandoningtheplans,Christiandrawsme
intohisarms.“Itturnsouthehasn’tbeeninhisapartmentforweeks,that’s
all.”Hekissesmyhair,thenreleasesmeandfinisheshistask.
Oh.
“Sowhatdidyoudecideon?”heasks,andIknowit’sbecausehedoesn’t
wantmetopursuetheHydelineofinquiry.152|Page
ELJAMES
“OnlywhatyouandIdiscussed.Ithinkshelikesyou,”Isayquietly.
Hesnorts.“Didyousaysomethingtoher?”heasksandIflush.Howdoeshe
know?Atalosswhattosay,Istaredownatmyfingers.
“WewereChristianandAnawhenshearrived,andMr.andMrs.Greywhen
sheleft.”Histoneisdry.
“Imayhavesaidsomething,”Imumble.WhenIpeekupathimhe’s
regardingmewarmly,andforanunguardedmomenthelooks…pleased.He
dropshisgaze,shakinghishead,andhisexpressionchanges.
“She’sonlyreactingtothisface.”Hesoundsvaguelybitter,disgustedeven.
OhFifty,no!
“What?”He’sbemusedbymyperplexedexpression.Hiseyesgrowwidein
alarm.“You’renotjealous,areyou?”heasks,horrified.Iflushandswallow,
thenstaredownatmyknottedfingers.AmI?
“Ana,she’sasexualpredator.Notmytypeatall.Howcanyoubejealousof
her?Ofanyone?Nothingaboutherinterestsme.”WhenIglanceup,he’s
gapingatmeasifI’vegrownanadditionallimb.Herunsahandthroughhis
hair.“It’sonlyyou,Ana,”hesaysquietly.“Itwillonlyeverbeyou.”
Ohmy.Abandoningtheplansoncemore,Christianmovestowardmeand
claspsmychinbetweenhisthumbandforefinger.
“Howcanyouthinkotherwise?HaveIevergivenyouanyindicationthatI
couldberemotelyinterestedinanyoneelse?”Hiseyesblazeashestaresinto
mine.
“No,”Iwhisper.“I’mbeingsilly.It’sjusttoday…you…”Allmyconflicting
emotionsfromearlierresurfaces.HowcanItellhimhowconfusedIam?I’ve
beenconfoundedandfrustratedbyhisbehaviorthisafternooninmyoffice.
Oneminutehewantsmetostayathome,thenexthe’sgiftingmeacompany.
HowamIsupposedtokeepup?
“Whataboutme?”
“Oh,Christian”—mybottomliptrembles—“I’mtryingtoadapttothisnew
lifethatIhadneverimaginedformyself.Everythingisbeinghandedtome
onaplate—thejob,you,mybeautifulhusband,whoInever…Ineverknew
I’dlovethisway,thishard,thisfast,this…indelibly.”Itakeadeepsteadying
breath,ashismouthdropsopen.153|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Butyou’relikeafreighttrain,andIdon’twanttogetrailroadedbecausethe
girlyoufellinlovewithwillbecrushed.Andwhat’llbeleft?Allthatwould
beleftisavacuoussocialx-ray,flittingfromcharityfunctiontocharity
function.”Ipauseoncemore,strugglingtofindthewordstoconveyhowI
feel.“AndnowyouwantmetobeacompanyCEO,whichhasnevereven
beenonmyradar.I’mbouncingbetweenalltheseideas,struggling.Youwant
meathome.Youwantmetorunacompany.It’ssoconfusing.”Istop,tears
threatening,andIforcebackasob.
“You’vegottoletmemakemyowndecisions,takemyownrisks,andmake
myownmistakes,andletmelearnfromthem.IneedtowalkbeforeIcan
run,Christian,don’tyousee.Iwantsomeindependence.That’swhatmy
namemeanstome.”There,that’swhatIwantedtosaythisafternoon.
“Youfeelrailroaded?”hewhispers.
Inod.
Hecloseshiseyesandrunshishandthroughhishairinagitation.“Ijustwant
togiveyoutheworld,Ana,everythingandanythingyouwant.Andsaveyou
fromit,too.Keepyousafe.ButIalsowanteveryonetoknowyou’remine.I
panickedtodaywhenIgotyouremail.Whydidn’tyoutellmeaboutyour
name?”
Iflush.Hehasapoint.
“Ionlythoughtaboutitwhilewewereonourhoneymoon,andwell,Ididn’t
wanttoburstthebubble,andIforgotaboutit.Ionlyrememberedyesterday
evening.AndthenJack…youknow,itwasdistracting.I’msorry,Ishould
havetoldyouordiscusseditwithyou,butIcouldneverseemtofindtheright
time.”
Christian’sintensegazeisunnerving.It’sasifhe’stryingtowillhiswayinto
myskull,buthesaysnothing.
“Whydidyoupanic?”Iask.
“Ijustdon’twantyoutoslipthroughmyfingers.”
“Forheaven’ssake,I’mnotgoinganywhere.Whenareyougoingtogetthat
throughyourincrediblythickskull?I.Love.You.”Iwavemy154|Page
ELJAMES
handintheairlikehedoessometimestoemphasizemypoint.“Morethan…
eyesight,space,orliberty.”1
Hiseyeswiden.“Adaughter’slove?”Hegivesmeanironicsmile.
“No,”Ilaugh,despitemyself.“It’stheonlyquotethatcametomind.”
“MadKingLear?”
“Dear,dearMadKingLear.”Ireachupandcaresshisface,andheleansinto
mytouch,closinghiseyes.“WouldyouchangeyournametoChristianSteele
soeveryonewouldknowthatyoubelongtome?”
Christian’seyesflyopen,andhegazesatmeasifI’vejustsaidtheworldis
flat.Hefrowns.“Belongtoyou?”hemurmurs,testingthewords.
“Mine.”
“Yours,”hesays,repeatingthewordswespokeintheplayroomonly
yesterday.“Yes,Iwould.Ifitmeantthatmuchtoyou.”
Ohmy.
“Doesitmeanthatmuchtoyou?”
“Yes.”Heisunequivocal.
“Okay.”Iwilldothisforhim.Givehimthereassurancehestillneeds.
“Ithoughtyou’dalreadyagreedtothis.”
“YesIhave,butnowwe’vediscusseditfurther,I’mhappierwithmy
decision.”
“Oh,”hemutters,surprised.Thenhesmileshisbeautiful,boyishyes-I-am-
really-kinda-youngsmile,andhetakesmybreathaway.Grabbingmebymy
waist,heswingsmearound.Isquealandstarttogiggle,andIdon’tknowif
he’sjusthappyorrelievedor…what?
“Mrs.Grey,doyouknowwhatthismeanstome?”
“Idonow.”
Heleansdownandkissesme,hisfingersmovingintomyhair,holdingmein
place.
“ItmeanssevenshadesofSunday,”hemurmursagainstmylips,andheruns
hisnosealongmine.
“Youthink?”Ileanbacktogazeathim.
1Craig,W.J.,ed.“KingLear.”TheCompleteWorksofWilliamShakespeare.
Scene1,Act1.NewYork:RandomHouseValuePublishing:1997.155|Pa
ge
FiftyShadesFreed
“Certainpromisesweremade.Anofferextended,adealbrokered,”
hewhispers,hiseyessparklingwithwickeddelight.
“Um…”Iamstillreeling,tryingtofollowhismood.
“Yourenegingonme?”heasksuncertainly,andaspeculativelookcrosseshis
face.“Ihaveanidea,”headds.
Oh,whatkinkyfuckeryisthis?
“Areallyimportantmattertoattendto,”hecontinues,suddenlyallserious
oncemore.“Yes,Mrs.Grey.Amatterofthegravestimportance.”
Hangon—he’slaughingatme.
“What?”Ibreathe.
“Ineedyoutocutmyhair.Apparentlyit’soverlong,andmywifedoesn’tlike
it.”
“Ican’tcutyourhair!”
“Yesyoucan.”Christiangrinsandshakeshisheadsohisoverlonghaircovers
hiseyes.
“Well,ifMrs.Joneshasapuddingbowl.”Igiggle.Helaughs.“Okay,good
pointwellmade.I’llgetFrancotodoit.”
What?No!Francoworksforher?MaybeIcouldgivehimatrim.Afterall,I
cutRay’shairforyears,andhenevercomplained.
“Come.”Igrabhishand.Hiseyeswiden.Ileadhimallthewaytoour
bathroomwhereIreleasehimandgrabthewhitewoodenchairthatstandsin
thecorner.Iplaceitinfrontofthesink.WhenIlookatChristian,he’sgazing
atmewithill-disguisedamusement,thumbstuckedinthefrontbeltloopsof
hispantsbuthiseyesaresmokinghot.
“Sit.”Igesturetotheemptychair,tryingtomaintaintheupperhand.
“Areyougoingtowashmyhair?”
Inod.Hearchesonebrowinsurprise,andforamomentIthinkhe’sgoingto
backdown.“Okay.”Slowlyhebeginstoundoeachbuttonofhiswhiteshirt,
startingwiththeonebeneathhisthroat.Nimble,deftfingersmovetoeach
buttoninturnuntilhisshirthangsopen.Ohmy…Myinnergoddesspauses
inhercelebratoryjauntaroundthearena.
Christianholdsoutacuffwithan“undothisnow”gesture,andhismouth
twitchesinthatchallenging,sexywayhehas.156|Page
ELJAMES
Oh,cufflinks.Itakehisprofferedwristandremovethefirstone,aplatinum
discwithhisinitialsengravedinasimpleitalicscript—andthenremoveits
matchingtwin.AsIfinishIglanceathim,andhisamusedexpressionisgone,
replacedbysomethinghotter…muchhotter.Ireachupandpushhisshirtoff
hisshoulders,lettingitfalltothefloor.
“Ready?”Iwhisper.
“Forwhateveryouwant,Ana.”
Myeyesstrayfromhiseyestohislips.Partedsothathecaninhalemore
deeply.Sculptured,chiseled,whatever,itisabeautifulmouthandheknows
exactlywhattodowithit.Ifindmyselfleaninguptokisshim.
“No,”hesaysandplacesbothofhishandsonmyshoulders.“Don’t.Ifyou
dothat,I’llnevergetmyhaircut.”
Oh!
“Iwantthis,”hecontinues.Andhiseyesareroundandrawforsome
inexplicablereason.It’sdisarming.
“Why?”Iwhisper.
Hestaresatmeforabeat,andhiseyesgrowwider.“Becauseit’llmakeme
feelcherished.”
Myheartpracticallylurchestoahalt.Oh,Christian…myFifty.AndbeforeI
knowitI’vecircledhiminmyarms,andIkisshischestbeforenuzzlingmy
cheekintohisticklychesthair.
“Ana.MyAna,”hewhispers.Hewrapshisarmsaroundmeandwestand
immobile,holdingeachotherinourbathroom.Oh,howIlovetobeinhis
arms.Evenifheisanoverbearing,megalomaniacarse,he’smyoverbearing
megalomaniacarseinneedofalifetimedoseofTLC.Ileanbackwithout
releasinghim.
“Youreallywantmetodothis?”
Henodsandgivesmehisshysmile.Igrinbackathimandstepoutofhis
embrace.
“Thensit,”Irepeat.
Hedutifullydoes,sittingwithhisbacktothesink.Itakeoffmyshoesand
kickthemovertowherehisshirtliescrumpledonthebathroomfloor.From
theshowerIretrievehisshampoo:Chanel.WeboughtitinFrance.
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Wouldsirlikethis?”IholditupinbothhandslikeI’msellingitonQVC.
“Hand-deliveredfromtheSouthofFrance.Ilikethesmellofthis…itsmells
ofyou,”Iaddinawhisper,slippingoutofmytelevisionpresentermode.
“Please.”Hegrins.
Igrabasmalltoweloffthetowelwarmer.Mrs.Jonessureknowshowtokeep
thetowelssuper-soft.
“Leanforward,”IorderandChristiancomplies.Drapingthetowelaroundhis
shoulders,Ithenturnonthetapsandfillthesinkwithamixofwarmwater.
“Leanback.”Oh,Ilikebeingincharge.Christianleansback,buthe’stootall.
Heshiftstheseatforwardthentiltsbacktheentirechairuntilthetoprests
againstthesink.Perfectdistance.Hetipsbackhishead.Boldeyesgazeupat
me,andIsmiledownathim.Takingoneofthedrinkingglasseswekeepon
thevanity,IdipitintothewaterandtipitoverChristian’shead,soakinghis
hair.Irepeattheprocess,leaningoverhim.
“Yousmellsogood,Mrs.Grey,”hemurmursandcloseshiseyes.AsI
methodicallywethishair,Ifreelygazeathim.Holycow.WillIevertireof
this?Longdarklashesfanacrosshischeeks;hislipspartalittle,creatinga
small,darkdiamondshape,andheinhalessoftly.Hmm…howIlongtopoke
mytongue—
Isplashwaterintohiseyes.Shit!“Sorry!”
Hegrabsthecornerofthetowelandlaughsashewipesthewateroutofhis
eyes.
“Hey,IknowI’manarse,butdon’tdrownme.”
Ileandownandkisshisforehead,giggling.“Don’ttemptme.”
Reachingup,hecurlshishandbehindmyheadandshiftssothathecaptures
mylipswithhis.Hekissesmebriefly,makingalowcontentedsoundinhis
throat.Thenoiseconnectstothemusclesdeepinmybelly.It’savery
seductivesound.Hereleasesmeandliesbackobediently,gazingupatme
withexpectation.Foramomenthelooksvulnerable,likeachild.Ittugsatmy
heart.
Isquirtsomeshampoointomypalmandmassageitintohisscalp,beginning
athistemplesandworkingoverthetopofhisheadanddownthesides,
circlingmyfingersrhythmically.Hecloseshiseyesagainandmakesthatlow
hummingsoundagain.
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“Thatfeelsgood,”hesaysafteramomentandrelaxesbeneaththefirmtouch
ofmyfingers.
“Yesitdoes.”Ikisshisforeheadoncemore.
“Ilikeitwhenyouscratchmyscalpwithyourfingernails.”Hiseyesarestill
closedbuthisexpressiononeofblissfulcontentment—notraceofhis
vulnerabilityremains.Jeez,howmuchhisexpressionhaschanged,andItake
comfortknowingit’smethat’sdonethis.
“Headup,”Icommandandheobeys.Hmmm—agirlcouldgetusedtothis.I
rubthesudsintothebackofhishair,scrapingmynailsintohisscalp.
“Back.”
Heleansback,andIrinseoffthelather,usingtheglass.ThistimeImanage
nottosplashhim.
“Oncemore?”Iask.
“Please.”Hiseyesflutteropenandhisserenegazefindsmine.Igrindownat
him.
“Comingrightup,Mr.Grey.”
IturntothesinkthatChristiannormallyusesandfillitwithwarmwater.
“Forrinsing,”Isaywhenhislookturnsquizzical.Irepeattheprocesswith
theshampoo,listeningtohisevendeepbreaths.Oncehe’salllatheredup,I
takeanothermomenttoappreciatethefinefaceofmyhusband.Icannotresist
him.Tenderly,Icaresshischeek,andheopenshiseyes,watchingmealmost
sleepilythroughhislonglashes.LeaningforwardIplantasoft,chastekisson
hislips.Hesmiles,closeshiseyes,andbreathesoutasighofutter
contentment.Jeez.Whowouldhavethoughtafterourargumentthisafternoon
hecouldbethisrelaxed?Withoutsex?Ileanrightoverhim.
“Hmm,”hemurmursappreciativelyasmybreastsbrushhisface.Resisting
theurgetoshimmy,Ipulltheplugsothesudsywaterdrainsaway.Hishands
movetomyhipsandaroundtomybehind.
“Nofondlingthehelp,”Imurmur,feigningdisapproval.
“Don’tforgetI’mdeaf,”hesays,keepinghiseyesclosed,asherunshishands
downpastmybehindandstartstohitchupmyskirt.Iswathisarm.I’m
enjoyingplayinghairdresser.Hegrins,bigandboyish,likeI’vecaughthim
doingsomethingillicitthathe’ssecretlyproudof.159|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ireachfortheglassagain,butthistimeusethewaterfromtheneighboring
sinktocarefullyrinsealltheshampoofromhishair.Icontinuetoleanover
him,andhekeepshishandsonmybackside,thrumminghisfingersbackand
forward,upanddown…backandforth…hmm.Iwiggle.Hegrowlslowin
histhroat.
“There.Allrinsed.”
“Good,”hedeclares.Hisfingerstightenonmybehind,andallatoncehesits
up,hissoakedhairdrippingalloverhim.Hepullsmedownontohislap,his
handsmovingfrommybehinduptothenapeofmyneck,thentomychin,
holdingmeinplace.Igaspwithsurpriseandhislipsareonmine,histongue
hotandhardinmymouth.Myfingerscurlaroundhiswethair,anddropsof
waterrundownmyarms;andashedeepensthekiss,hishairbathesmyface.
Hishandmovesfrommychindowntothetopbuttonofmyblouse.
“Enoughofthisprimping.IwanttofuckyousevenshadesofSunday,andwe
candoitinhereorinthebedroom.Youdecide.”
Christian’seyesblazeintomine,hotandfullofpromise,hishairdripping
waterontousboth.Mymouthgoesdry.
“What’sittobe,Anastasia?”heasksasheholdsinhislap.
“You’rewet,”Irespond.
Hebendshisheadsuddenly,runninghisdrippinghairalldownthefrontof
myblouse.Isquealandtrytowriggleoffhim.Hetightenshisgriparound
me.
“Ohnoyoudon’t,baby,”hemurmurs.Whenheraiseshisheadhe’sgrinning
salaciouslyatme,andIamMissWetBlouse2011.Mytopissoakedand
totallysee-through.I’mwet…everywhere.
“Lovetheview,”hemurmursandleansdowntorunhisnosearoundand
aroundonewetnipple.Isquirm.
“Answerme,Ana.Hereorthebedroom?”
“Here,”Iwhisperfrantically.Tohellwiththehaircut—I’lldoitlater.He
smilesslowly,hislipscurlingintoasensuoussmilefulloflicentiouspromise.
“Goodchoice,Mrs.Grey,”hemurmursagainstmylips.Hereleasesmychin
andhishandmovestomyknee.Itglidessmoothlyupmyleg,liftingmyskirt
andskatingovermyskin,makingmetingle.Hislipstrailsoftkissesfromthe
baseofmyearalongmyjaw.160|Page
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“Oh,whatshallIdotoyou?”hewhispers.Hisfingershaltatmystocking
tops.“Ilikethese,”hesays.Herunsafingerunderneaththetopandskimsit
aroundtomyinnerthigh.Igaspandsquirmoncemoreinhislap.
Hegroans,lowinhisthroat.“IfI’mgoingtofuckyousevenshadesof
Sunday,Iwantyoutokeepstill.”
“Makeme,”Ichallenge,myvoicesoftandbreathy.
Christianinhalessharply.Henarrowshiseyesandregardsmewithahot,
hoodedexpression.
“Oh,Mrs.Grey.Youhaveonlytoask.”Hishandmovesfrommystocking
topsuptomypanties.“Let’sdivestyouofthese.”HetugsgentlyandIshift
tohelphim.HisbreathhissesthroughhisteethasIdo.
“Keepstill,”hegrumbles.
“I’mhelping,”Ipout,andheseizesmylowerlipgentlybetweenhisteeth.
“Still,”hegrowls.Heslidesmypantiesdownmylegsandoff.Tuggingmy
skirtupsothatit’sbunchedaroundmyhips,hemovesbothhandstomywaist
andliftsme.Hestillhasmypantiesinhishand.
“Sit.Astrideme,”heordersstaringintentlyintomyeyes.Ishift,straddling
him,andregardhimprovocatively.Bringiton,Fifty!
“Mrs.Grey,”hewarns“Areyougoadingme?”Hegazesatme,amusedbut
aroused.It’saseductivecombination.
“Yes.Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?”
Hiseyeslightupwithsalaciousdelightatmychallenge,andIfeelhisarousal
beneathme.“Claspyourhandstogetherbehindyourback.”
Oh!Icomplyobedientlyand,deftly,hebindsmywriststogetherwithmy
panties.Hefastensthemtight.
“Mypanties?Mr.Grey,youhavenoshame,”Iadmonish.
“Notwhereyou’reconcerned,Mrs.Grey,butyouknowthat.”Hislookis
intenseandhot.Puttinghishandsaroundmywaist,heshiftsmesoIam
sittingalittlefurtherbackonhislap.Waterstilldripsdownhisneckandover
hischest.Iwanttobendforwardandlickthedripsoff,butit’strickiernow
thatIamrestrained.
Christiancaressesbothofmythighsandskimshishandsdowntomyknees.
Gentlyhepushesthemfurtherapartandwidenshisown161|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
legs,holdingmeinthatposition.Hisfingersmovetothebuttonsofmy
blouse.
“Idon’tthinkweneedthis,”hesays.Hestartsmethodicallyundoingeach
buttononmyclingingwetblouse,hiseyesneverleavingmine.Theyget
darkeranddarkerashefinishesthetask,takinghisownsweettimeaboutit.
Mypulsequickensandmybreathingshallows.Ican’tbelieveit—he’shardly
touchedme,andIfeellikethis—hot,bothered…ready.Iwanttosquirm.He
leavesmydampblousehangingopenandusingbothhands,hecaressesmy
facewithhisfingers,histhumbskimmingacrossmybottomlip.Suddenly,he
thrustshisthumbintomymouth.
“Suck,”heordersinawhisper,stressingtheS.Iclosemymoutharoundhim
anddoexactlythat.Oh…Ilikethisgame.Hetastesgood.WhatelsewouldI
liketosuck?Themusclesinmybellyclenchatthethought.Hislipspart
whenIscrapemyteethandbitethesoftpadofhisthumb.
Hegroansandslowlyextractshiswetthumbfrommymouthandtrailsit
downmychin,downmythroat,overmysternum.Hehooksitintothecupof
mybraandyanksthecupdown,freeingmybreast.Christian’sgazenever
leavesmine.He’swatchingeachreactionthathistouchelicitsfromme,and
I’mwatchinghim.It’shot.Consuming.Possessive.Iloveit.Hemirrorshis
actionswithhisotherhandsobothmybreastsarefreeand,cuppingthem
gently,heskimseachthumboveranipple,circlingslowly,teasingand
tauntingeachonesothattheyhardenanddistendbeneathhisskillfultouch.I
try,Ireallytrynottomove,butmynipplesarehotwiredtomygroin,soI
moanandthrowmyheadback,closingmyeyesandsurrenderingtothe
sweet,sweettorture.
“Shh.”Christian’ssoothingvoiceisatoddswiththeteasing,eventempo
rhythmofhiswickedfingers.“Still,baby,still.”Releasingonebreast,he
reachesupbehindmeandsplayshishandaroundthenapeofmyneck.
Leaningforward,hetakesmynowbereftnippleintohismouthandsucks
hard,hiswethairticklingme.Atthesametime,histhumbstopsskimming
acrossmyotherelongatednipple.Instead,hetakesitbetweenhisthumband
forefingerandtugsandtwistsitgently.162|Page
ELJAMES
“Ah!Christian!”Igroanandbuckforwardonhislap.Buthedoesn’tstop.He
continuestheslow,leisurely,agonizingtease.Andmybodyisburningasthe
pleasuretakesadarkerturn.
“Christian,please,”Iwhimper.
“Hmm,”hehumslowinhischest.“Iwantyoutocomelikethis.”
Mynipplegetsabriefrespiteashiswordscaressmyskin,andit’slikehe’s
callingtoadeep,darkpartofmypsychethatonlyheknows.Whenhe
resumeswithhisteeththistime,thepleasureisalmostintolerable.Moaning
loudly,Iwritheonhislap,tryingtofindsomepreciousfrictionagainsthis
pants.Ipulluselesslyagainstmyrestrainingpanties,itchingtotouchhim,but
I’mlost—lostinthistreacheroussensation.
“Please,”Iwhisper,pleading,andpleasurefliesthroughmybody,frommy
neck,rightdowntomylegs,tomytoes,tighteningallinitswake.
“Youhavesuchbeautifulbreasts,Ana.”Hegroans.“OnedayI’llfuckthem.”
What?Gah!Whatthehelldoesthatmean?Openingmyeyes,Igapedownat
himashesucklesme,myskinsingingunderhistouch.Inolongerfeelmy
soddenblouse,hiswethair…nothingexcepttheburn.Anditburns
deliciouslyhotandlow,deepinsideme,andallthoughtevaporatesasmy
bodytightensandclenches…ready,reaching…piningforrelease.Andhe
doesn’tstop—teasing,pulling,drivingmewild.Iwant…Iwant…
“Letgo,”hebreathes—andIdo,loudly,myorgasmconvulsingthroughmy
body,andhestopshissweettortureandwrapshisarmsaroundme,clutching
metohimasmybodyspiralsdownfrommyclimax.WhenIopenmyeyes,
heisgazingdownatmewhereIrestagainsthischest.
“God,Ilovetowatchyoucome,Ana.”Hisvoiceisfullofwonder.
“Thatwas…”Wordsfailme.
“Iknow.”Heleansforwardandkissesme,hishandstillatthenapeofmy
neck,holdingmejustso,anglingmyheadsohecankissmedeeply—with
love,withreverence.
Iamlostinhiskiss.
Hepullsawaytodrawbreath,hiseyesthecolorofatropicalstorm.
“NowI’mgoingtofuckyou,hard,”hemurmurs.
163|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Holycow.Grabbingmearoundthewaist,heliftsmefromhisthighsdownto
theedgeofhiskneesandreacheswithhisrighthandforthebuttononthe
waistbandofhisnavypants.Herunsthefingersofhislefthandupanddown
mythigh,stoppingatmystockingtopseachtime.He’swatchingmeintently.
We’refacetofaceandI’mhelpless,trussedupinmybraandbymypanties,
andthishastobeoneofthemostintimatetimeswe’vehad—mesittingonhis
lap,staringintohisbeautifulgrayeyes.Itmakesmefeelwanton,butalsoso
connectedtohim—Iamnotembarrassedorshy.ThisisChristian,my
husband,mylover,myoverbearingmegalomaniac,myFifty—theloveofmy
life.Hereachesforhiszipper,andmymouthgoesdryashiserectionsprings
free.
Hesmirks.“Youlike?”hewhispers.
“Hmm,”Imurmurappreciatively.Hewrapshishandaroundhimselfand
movesitupanddown…Ohmy.Igazeupathimthroughmylashes.Fuck,
he’ssosexy.
“You’rebitingyourlip,Mrs.Grey.”
“That’sbecauseI’mhungry.”
“Hungry?”Hismouthopensinsurprise,andhiseyeswidenafraction.
“Hmm…”Iagreeandlickmylips.
Hegivesmehisenigmaticsmileandbiteshislowerlipashecontinuesto
strokehimself.Whyisthesightofmyhusbandpleasuringhimselfsucha
turn-on?
“Isee.Youshouldhaveeatenyourdinner.”Histoneismockingand
censoriousatonce.“ButmaybeIcanoblige.”Heputshishandsonmywaist.
“Stand,”hesayssoftly,andIknowwhathe’sgoingtodo.Igettomyfeet,my
legsnolongershaking.
“Kneel.”
IdoasI’mtoldandkneeldownonthecooltiledfloorofthebathroom.He
slidesforwardontheseatofthechair.
“Kissme,”heuttersholdinghiserection.Iglanceupathim,andherunshis
tongueoverhistopteeth.It’sarousing,veryarousing,toseehisdesire,his
nakeddesireformeandmymouth.Leaningforward,myeyesonhis,Ikiss
thetipofhiserection.Iwatchhiminhalesharplyandclenchhisteeth.
Christiancupsthesideofmyhead,andIrunmytongueoverthetip,tasting
thesmallbeadofdewontheend.Hmm…164|Page
ELJAMES
hetastesgood.HismouthdropsopenfurtherashegaspsandIpounce,
pullinghimintomymouthandsuckinghard.
“Ah—”Theairhissesthroughhisteeth,andheflexeshishipsforward,
thrustingintomymouth.ButIdon’tstop.Sheathingmyteethbehindmylips,
Ipushdownandthenpulluponhim.Hemovesbothhandssothathefully
cupsmyhead,buryinghisfingersinmyhairandslowlyeaseshimselfinand
outofmymouth,hisbreathingquickening,growingharsher.Itwirlmy
tonguearoundhistipandpushdownagaininperfectcounterpointtohim.
“Jesus,Ana.”Hesighsandscrewshiseyestightly.He’slostandit’sheady,
hisresponsetome.Me.MyinnergoddesscouldlightupEscala,she’sso
thrilled.AndveryslowlyIdrawmylipsback,soit’sjustmyteeth.
“Ah!”Christianstopsmoving.Leaningforwardhegrabsmeandpullsmeup
ontohislap.
“Enough!”hegrowls.Reachingbehindme,hefreesmyhandswithonetug
onmypanties.Iflexmywristsandstarefromundermylashesintoscorching
eyesthatgazebackatmewithloveandlongingandlust.AndIrealizeit’sme
thatwantstofuckhimsevenshadesofSunday.Iwanthimbadly.Iwantto
watchhimcomeapartbeneathme.Igrabhiserectionandscootoverhim.
Placingmyotherhandonhisshoulder,verygentlyandslowly,Ieasemyself
ontohim.Hemakesaguttural,feralnoisedeepinhisthroatand,reachingup,
pullsmyblouseoffandletsitfalltothefloor.Hishandsmovetomyhips.
“Still,”herasps,hishandsdiggingintomyflesh.“Please,letmesavorthis.
Savoryou.”
Istop.Ohmy…hefeelssogoodinsideme.Hecaressesmyface,hiseyes
wideandwild,hislipspartedashebreathes.HeflexesbeneathmeandI
moan,closingmyeyes.
“Thisismyfavoriteplace,”hewhispers.“Insideyou.Insidemywife.”
Ohfuck.Christian.Icannotholdback.Myfingersglideintohiswethair,my
lipsseekhis,andIstarttomove.Upanddownonmytoes,savoringhim,
savoringme.Hegroansloudly,andhishandsareinmyhairandaroundmy
back,andhistongueinvadesmymouthgreedily,takingallthatIwillingly
give.Afterallourarguingtoday,myfrustrationwithhim,hiswithme—we
stillhavethis.Wewillalways165|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
havethis.Ilovehimsomuch,it’salmostoverwhelming.Hishandsmoveto
mybacksideandhecontrolsme,movingmeupanddown,againandagain,at
hispace—hishot,slicktempo.
“Ah,”IgroanhelplesslyintohismouthasI’mcarriedaway.
“Yes.Yes,Ana,”hehisses,andIrainkissesonhisface,hischin,hisjaw,his
neck.“Baby,”hebreathes,capturingmymouthoncemore.
“Oh,Christian,Iloveyou.Iwillalwaysloveyou.”I’mbreathless,wanting
himtoknow,wantinghimtobesureofmeafterourbattleofwillstoday.
Hemoansloudlyandwrapshisarmsaroundmetightlyasheclimaxeswitha
mournfulsob,andit’senough—enoughtopushmeoverthebrinkoncemore.
Iclutchmyarmsaroundhisheadandletgo,andIcomearoundhim,tears
springingtomyeyesbecauseIlovehimso.
“Hey,”hewhispers,tippingmychinbackandgazingatmewithquiet
concern.“Whyareyoucrying?DidIhurtyou?”
“No,”Imutterreassuringly.Hesmoothesmyhairoffmyface,wipesawaya
lonetearwiththisthumbandtenderlykissesmylips.Heisstillinsideme.He
shifts,andIwinceashepullsoutofme.
“What’swrong,Ana?Tellme.”
Isniff.“It’sjust…it’sjustsometimesI’moverwhelmedbyhowmuchIlove
you,”Iwhisper.Heblinksdownatme.
“Oh.”Thenhesmileshisspecialshysmile—reservedforme,Ithink.“You
havethesameeffectonme,”hewhispers,andkissesmeoncemore.Ismile
upathim,andinsidemyjoyunfurlsandstretcheslazily.
“DoI?”
Hesmirks.“Youknowyoudo.”
“SometimesIknow.Notallthetime.”
“Backatyou,Mrs.Grey,”hewhispers.
Igrinandgentlyplacefeather-lightkissesoverhischest.Inuzzlehischest
hair.Christiancaressesmyhairandrunsahanddownmyback.Heunclasps
mybraandpullsthestrapdownonearm.Ishift,andhetugsthestrapdown
theotherarmanddropsmybraonthefloor.
“Hmm.Skinonskin,”hemurmursappreciativelyandfoldsmeinhisarms
again.Hekissesmyshoulderandrunshisnoseuptomyear.
“Yousmelllikeheaven,Mrs.Grey.”
166|Page
ELJAMES
“Sodoyou,Mr.Grey.”InuzzlehimagainandinhalehisChristiansmell,
whichisnowmixedwiththeheadyscentofsex.Icouldstaywrappedinhis
armslikethis,satedandhappy,forever.It’sjustwhatIneedafterafulldayof
back-to-work,arguing,andbitchslapping.ThisiswhereIwanttobe,andin
spiteofhiscontrolfreakery,hismegalomania,thisiswhereIbelong.
Christianburieshisnoseinmyhairandinhalesdeeply.Iletoutacontented
sigh,andIfeelhissmile.Andwesit,armsclaspedaroundeachother,saying
nothing.Eventuallyrealityintrudes.
“It’slate,”Christiansays,hisfingersmethodicallystrokingmyback.
“Yourhairstillneedscutting.”
Hechuckles.“Thatitdoes,Mrs.Grey.Doyouhavetheenergytofinishthe
jobyoustarted?”
“Foryou,Mr.Grey,anything.”Ikisshischestoncemoreandreluctantly
stand.
“Don’tgo.”Grabbingmyhips,heturnsmearound.Hestraightensthen
undoesmyskirt,lettingitdroptothefloor.Heholdshishandouttome.I
takeitandstepoutofmyskirt.NowIamdressedsolelyinstockingsand
garterbelt.
“Youareamightyfinesight,Mrs.Grey.”Hesitsbackinthechairandcrosses
hisarms,givingmeafullandfrankappraisal.Iholdoutmyhandsandtwirl
forhim.
“God,I’maluckysonofabitch,”hesaysadmiringly.
“Yes,youare.”
Hegrins.“Putmyshirtonandyoucancutmyhair.Likethis,you’lldistract
me,andwe’llnevergettobed.”
Ican’thelpmyansweringsmile.Knowingthathe’swatchingmyeverymove,
Isashayovertowhereweleftmyshoesandhisshirt.Bendingslowly,Ireach
down,pickuphisshirt,smellit—hmm—thenshrugiton.
Christianblinksatme,hiseyesround.He’sredonehisflyandiswatchingme
intently.
“That’squiteafloorshow,Mrs.Grey.”
“Dowehaveanyscissors?”Iaskinnocently,battingmyeyelashes.
“Mystudy,”hecroaks.
167|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’llgosearch.”Leavinghim,Iwalkintoourbedroomandgrabmycomb
fromthedressingtablebeforeheadingtohisstudy.AsIenterthemain
corridor,InoticethedoortoTaylor’sofficeisopen.Mrs.Jonesisstanding
justbeyondthedoor.Istop,rootedtothespot.Taylorisrunninghisfingers
downherfaceandsmilingsweetlyather.Thenheleansdownandkissesher.
Holyshit!TaylorandMrs.Jones?Igapeinastonishment—Imean,Ithought
…well,Ikindofsuspected.Butobviouslytheyaretogether!
Iflush,feelinglikeavoyeur,andmanagetogetmyfeettomove.Iscamper
acrossthegreatroomandintoChristian’sstudy.Switchingonthelight,I
walktohisdesk.TaylorandMrs.Jones…Wow!I’mreeling.Ialways
thoughtMrs.JoneswasolderthanTaylor.Oh,Ihavetogetmyheadaround
this.IopenthetopdrawerandamimmediatelydistractedwhenIfindagun.
Christianhasagun!
Arevolver.Holyfuck!IhadnoideaChristianownedagun.Itakeitout,slip
thereleaseandcheckthecylinder.It’sfullyloaded,butlight…toolight.It
mustbecarbonfiber.WhatdoesChristianwantwithagun?Jeez,Ihopehe
knowshowtouseit.Ray’sperpetualwarningsabouthandgunsrunquickly
throughmymind.Hisarmytrainingwasneverlost.Thesewillkillyou,Ana.
Youneedtoknowwhatyou’redoingwhenyou’rehandlingafirearm.Iputthe
gunbackandfindthescissors.Retrievingthemquickly,Iboltbackto
Christian,myheadbuzzing.TaylorandMrs.Jones…therevolver…Atthe
entrancetothegreatroom,IrunintoTaylor.
“Mrs.Grey,excuseme.”Hisfacereddensashequicklytakesinmyattire.
“Um,Taylor,hi…um.I’mcuttingChristian’shair!”Iblurtout,embarrassed.
TaylorisasmortifiedasIam.Heopenshismouthtosaysomethingthen
closesitquicklyandstandsaside.
“Afteryou,ma’am,”hesaysformally.IthinkI’mthecolorofmyoldAudi,
thesubmissivespecial.Jeez.Couldthisbemoreembarrassing?
“Thankyou,”Imutteranddashdownthehallway.Crap!WillIevergetused
tothefactthatwe’renotalone?Idashintothebathroom,breathless.
168|Page
ELJAMES
“What’swrong?”Christianisstandinginfrontofthemirror,holdingmy
shoes.Allofmyscatteredclothesarenowneatlypiledbesidethesink.
“IjustranintoTaylor.”
“Oh.”Christianfrowns.“Dressedlikethat.”
Ohshit!“That’snotTaylor’sfault.”
Christian’sfrowndeepens.“No.Butstill.”
“I’mdressed.”
“Barely.”
“Idon’tknowwhowasmoreembarrassed,meorhim.”Itrymydistraction
technique.“DidyouknowheandGailare…well,together?”
Christianlaughs.“Yes,ofcourseIknew.”
“Andyounevertoldme?”
“Ithoughtyouknew,too.”
“No.”
“Ana,they’readults.Theyliveunderthesameroof.Bothunattached.Both
attractive.”
Iflush,feelingfoolishfornothavingnoticed.
“Well,ifyouputitlikethat…IjustthoughtGailwasolderthanTaylor.”
“Sheis,butnotbymuch.”Hegazesatme,perplexed.“Somemenlikeolder
women—”Hestopsabruptlyandhiseyeswiden.Iscowlathim.“Iknow
that,”Isnap.
Christianlookscontrite.Hesmilesfondlyatme.Yes!Mydistraction
techniquesuccessful!Mysubconsciousrollshereyesatme—butatwhat
cost?NowtheunmentionableMrs.Robinsonisloomingoverus.
“Thatremindsme,”hesays,brightly.
“What?”Imutterpetulantly.Grabbingthechair,Iturnittofacethemirror
abovethesinks.“Sit,”Iorder.Christianregardsmewithindulgent
amusement,butdoesashe’stoldandsitsbackdowninthechair.Istartto
combthroughhisnowmerelydamphair.
“Iwasthinkingwecouldconverttheroomsoverthegaragesforthematthe
newplace,”Christiancontinues.“Makeitahome.ThenmaybeTaylor’s
daughtercouldstaywithhimmoreoften.”Hewatchesmecarefullyinthe
mirror.
“Whydoesn’tshestayhere?”
169|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Taylor’sneveraskedme.”
“Perhapsyoushouldoffer.Butwe’dhavetobehaveourselves.”
Christian’sbrowfurrows.“Ihadn’tthoughtofthat.”
“Perhapsthat’swhyTaylorhasn’tasked.Haveyoumether?”
“Yes.She’sasweetthing.Shy.Verypretty.Ipayforherschooling.”
Oh!Istopcombingandstareathiminthemirror.
“Ihadnoidea.”
Heshrugs.“SeemedtheleastIcoulddo.Also,itmeanshewon’tquit.”
“I’msurehelikesworkingforyou.”
Christianstaresatmeblanklythenshrugs.“Idon’tknow.”
“Ithinkhe’sveryfondofyou,Christian.”Iresumecombingandglanceat
him.Hiseyesdon’tleavemine.
“Youthink?”
“Yes.Ido.”
Hesnorts,adismissiveyetcontentsound,asifhe’ssecretlypleasedthathis
staffmaylikehim.
“Good.WillyoutalktoGiaabouttheroomsoverthegarage?”
“Yes,ofcourse.”Idon’tfeelthesameirritationIdidbeforeatthementionof
hername.Mysubconsciousnodssagelyatme.Yes…wedonegoodtoday.
Myinnergoddessgloats.Nowshe’llleavemyhusbandaloneandnotmake
himuncomfortable.
IamreadytocutChristian’shair.“Yousureaboutthis?Yourlastchanceto
bail.”
“Doyourworst,Mrs.Grey.Idon’thavetolookatme,youdo.”
Igrin.“Christian,Icouldlookatyouallday.”
Heshakeshisheadexasperated.“It’sjustaprettyface,baby.”
“Andbehinditisaveryprettyman.”Ikisshistemple.“Myman.”
Hegrinsshyly.
Liftingthefirstlock,Icombitupwardandsnareitbetweenmyindexand
middlefinger.Iputthecombinmymouth,takethescissorsandmakethe
firstsnip,cuttinganinchoffthelength.Christiancloseshiseyesandsitslike
astatue,sighingcontentedlyasIcontinue.Occasionallyheopenshiseyes,
andIcatchhimwatchingmeintently.Hedoesn’ttouchmewhileIwork,and
I’mgrateful.Histouchis…distracting.
170|Page
ELJAMES
Fifteenminuteslater,I’mdone.
“Finished.”I’mpleasedwiththeresult.Helooksashotasever,hishairstill
floppyandsexy…justabitshorter.Christiangazesathimselfinthemirror,
lookingpleasantlysurprised.Hegrins.“Greatjob,Mrs.Grey.”Heturnshis
headfromsidetosideandsnakeshisarmaroundme.Pullingmetohim,he
kissesandnuzzlesmybelly.
“Thankyou,”hesays.
“Mypleasure.”Ibendandkisshimbriefly.
“It’slate.Bed.”Hegivesmybehindaplayfulslap.
“Ah!Ishouldcleanupinhere.”Thereishairalloverthefloor.Christian
frowns,asifthethoughtwouldneverhaveoccurredtohim.“Okay,I’llget
thebroom,”hesayswryly.“Idon’twantyouembarrassingthestaffwithyour
lackofappropriateattire.”
“Doyouknowwherethebroomis?”Iaskinnocently.ThisstopsChristianin
histracks.“Um…no.”
Ilaugh.“I’llgo.”
\AsIclimbintobedandwaitforChristiantojoinme,Ireflectonhow
differentlythisdaycouldhaveended.Iwassomadathimearlier,andhewith
me.HowamIgoingtodealwiththisrunning-a-companynonsense?Ihave
nodesiretorunmyowncompany.Iamnothim.Ineedtoheadthisoffatthe
pass.PerhapsIshouldhaveasafewordforwhenhe’sbeingoverbearingand
domineering…forwhenhe’sbeinganarse.Igiggle.Perhapsthesafeword
shouldbearse.Ifindthethoughtveryappealing.
“What?”hesaysasheclimbsintobedbesidemewearingonlyhispajama
pants.
“Nothing.Justanidea.”
“Whatidea?”heasks,stretchingoutbesideme.
Heregoesnothing.“Christian,Idon’tthinkIwanttorunacompany.”
Hepropshimselfuponhiselbowandgazesdownatme.“Whydoyousay
that?”
“Becauseit’snotsomethingthathaseverappealedtome.”
“You’remorethancapable,Anastasia.”
171|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Iliketoreadbooks,Christian.Runningacompanywilltakemeawayfrom
that.”
“Youcouldbethecreativehead.”
Ifrown.
“Yousee,”hecontinues,“runningasuccessfulcompanyisallabout
embracingthetalentoftheindividualsyouhaveatyourdisposal.Ifthat’s
whereyourtalentsandyourinterestslie,thenyoustructurethecompanyto
enablethat.”
What?
“Don’tdismissitoutofhand,Anastasia.You’reaverycapablewoman.I
thinkyoucoulddoanythingyouwantedifyouputyourmindtoit.”
Whoa?HowcanhepossiblyknowthatI’dbeanygoodatthis?
“I’malsoworrieditwilltakeuptoomuchofmytime.”
Christianfrowns.
“TimeIcoulddevotetoyou.”Ideploymysecretweapon.Hisgazedarkens.
“Iknowwhatyou’redoing,”hemurmurs,amused.
Damnit!
“What?”Ifeigninnocence.
“You’retryingtodistractmefromtheissueathand.Youalwaysdothat.Just
don’tdismisstheidea,Ana.Thinkaboutit.That’sallIask.”
Heleansdownandkissesmechastely,thenskimshisthumbdownmycheek.
Thisargumentisgoingtorunandrun.Ismileupathim—andsomethinghe
saidearliertodaypopsunbiddenintomymind.
“CanIaskyousomething?”Myvoiceissoft,tentative.
“Ofcourse.”
“EarliertodayyousaidifIwasangrywithyou,Ishouldtakeitoutonyouin
bed.Whatdidyoumean?”
Hestills.“WhatdidyouthinkImeant?”
Holyshit…Ishouldjustsayit.“Thatyouwantedmetotieyouup.”
Hiseyebrowsshootupinsurprise.“Um…no.That’snotwhatImeantat
all.”
“Oh.”I’msurprisedbymyslighttwingeofdisappointment.
“Youwanttotiemeup?”heasks,obviouslyreadingmyexpressioncorrectly.
Hesoundsshocked.Iblush.
172|Page
ELJAMES
“Well…”
“Ana,I…”hestops,andsomethingdarkcrosseshisface.
“Christian,”Iwhisper,alarmed.ImovesothatIamlyingonmyside,
proppeduponmyelbowlikehim.Reachingover,Icaresshisface.Hiseyes
arelargeandfearful.Heshakeshisheadsadly.Shit!
“Christian,stop.Itdoesn’tmatter.Ithoughtthat’swhatyoumeant.”
Hetakesmyhandandplacesitonhispoundingheart.Fuck!Whatisit?
“Ana,Idon’tknowhowI’dfeelaboutyoutouchingmeifIwasrestrained.”
Myscalpprickles.It’slikehe’sconfessingsomethingdeepanddark.
“Thisisstilltoonew.”Hisvoiceislowandraw.
Fuck.Itwasjustaquestion…andIrealizethathe’scomealongway,buthe
stillhasalongwaytogo.Oh,Fifty,Fifty,Fifty.Anxietygripsmyheart.Ilean
overandhefreezes,butIplantasoftkissatthecornerofhismouth.
“Christian,Igotthewrongidea.Pleasedon’tworryaboutit.Pleasedon’t
thinkaboutit.”Ikisshim.Hecloseshiseyesandgroansandreciprocates,
pushingmedownintothemattress,hishandsclaspingmychin.Andsoon
we’relost…lostineachotheragain.
173|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChapterNine
WhenIwakebeforethealarmthefollowingmorning,Christianiswrapped
aroundmelikeivy,hisheadonmychest,hisarmaroundmywaistandhisleg
betweenmine—andhe’sonmysideofthebed.It’salwaysthesame,ifwe
arguethenightbefore,thisishowheendsup,coiledaroundme,makingme
hotandbothered.
Oh,Fifty.Heissoneedyonsomelevel.Whowouldhavethought?
ThefamiliarvisionofChristianasadirty,wretchedlittleboyhauntsme.
Gently,Istrokehisshorterhairandmymelancholyrecedes.Hestirs,andhis
sleepyeyesmeetmine.Heblinksacoupleoftimesashewakes.
“Hi,”hemurmursandsmiles.
“Hi.”Ilovewakingtothatsmile.
Henuzzlesmybreastsandhumsappreciativelydeepinhisthroat.Hishand
travelsdownfrommywaist,skimmingoverthecoolsatinofmynightgown.
“Whatatemptingmorselyouare,”hemutters.“But,temptingthoughyou
are,”heglancesatthealarm,“Ihavetogetup.”Hestretchesout,untangling
himselffromme,andrises.Ilieback,putmyhandsbehindmyhead,and
enjoytheshow—
Christianstrippingforhisshower.Heisperfect.Iwouldn’tchangeahairon
hishead…well,exceptwhenhishairgetstoolong.
“Admiringtheview,Mrs.Grey?”Christianarchesasardonicbrowatme.
“It’samightyfineview,Mr.Grey.”
Hegrinsandthrowshispajamapantsatmesotheyalmostlandonmyface,
butIcatchthemintime,gigglinglikeaschoolgirl.Withawickedgrin,he
reachesdown,pullstheduvetoff,putsonekneeonthebedandgrabsmy
ankles,pullingmetowardhimsothatmynightdressridesup.Isqueal,andhe
crawlsupmybody,trailinglittlekissesonmyknee,mythigh…my…oh…
Christian!
174|Page
ELJAMES
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Grey,”Mrs.Jonesgreetsme.Iflush,embarrassed
rememberinghertrystwithTaylorthenightbefore.
“Goodmorning,”Irespondasshehandsmeacupoftea.Isitonthebarstool
besidemyhusband,whojustlooksradiant:freshlyshowered,hishairdamp,
wearingacrispwhiteshirtandthatsilver-graytie.Myfavoritetie.Ihave
fondmemoriesofthattie.
“Howareyou,Mrs.Grey?”heasks,hiseyeswarm.
“Ithinkyouknow,Mr.Grey.”Igazeupathimthroughmylashes.Hesmirks.
“Eat,”heorders.“Youdidn’teatyesterday.”
Oh,bossyFifty!
“That’sbecauseyouwerebeinganarse.”
Mrs.Jonesdropssomethingthatclattersintothesink,makingmejump.
Christianseemsoblivioustothenoise.Ignoringher,hestaresatme
impassively.
“Arseornot—eat.”Histoneisserious.Noarguingwithhim.
“Okay!Pickingupspoon,eatinggranola,”Imutterlikeapetulantteenager.I
reachfortheGreekyoghurtandspoonsomeontomycereal,followedbya
handfulofblueberries.IglanceatMrs.Jonesandshecatchesmyeye.Ismile,
andsherespondswithawarmsmileofherown.Shehasprovidedmewith
mybreakfastofchoiceintroducedtomeonourhoneymoon.
“ImayhavetogotoNewYorklaterintheweek.”Christian’sannouncement
interruptsmyreverie.
“Oh.”
“It’llmeananovernight.Iwantyoutocomewithme.”
Ohno…
“Christian,Iwon’tgetthetimeoff.”
Hegivesmehisoh-really-but-I’m-the-boss-stare.
Isigh.“Iknowyouownthecompany,butI’vebeenawayforthreeweeks.
Please.HowcanyouexpectmetorunthebusinessifI’mneverthere?I’llbe
finehere.I’massumingyou’lltakeTaylorwithyou,butSawyerandRyan
willbehere—”Istop,becauseChristianisgrinningatme.“What?”Isnap.
“Nothing.Justyou,”hesays.
Ifrown.Ishelaughingatme?Thenanastythoughtpopsintomymind.“How
areyougettingtoNewYork?”
175|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Thecompanyjet,why?”
“IjustwantedtocheckifyouweretakingCharlieTango.”Myvoiceisquiet,
andashiverrunsdownmyspine.Irememberthelasttimeheflewhis
helicopter.AwaveofnauseahitsmeasIrecalltheanxioushoursIspent
waitingfornews.Thatwaspossiblythelowestpointinmylife.InoticeMrs.
Joneshasstilled,too.Itryanddismisstheidea.
“Iwouldn’tflytoNewYorkinCharlieTango.Shedoesn’thavethatkindof
range.Besides,shewon’tbebackfromtheengineersforanothertwoweeks.”
Oh…thankheavens.Mysmileispartlyfromrelief,butalsotheknowledge
thatthedemiseofCharlieTangohasoccupiedagreatdealofChristian’s
thoughtsandtimeoverthelastfewweeks.
“WellI’mgladshe’snearlyfixed,but—”Istop.CanItellhimhownervous
I’llbewhenhefliesnexttime?
“What?”heasksashefinisheshisomelet.
Ishrug.
“Ana?”hesays,moresternly.
“Ijust…youknow.Lasttimeyouflewinher—Ithought,wethought,you’d
…”Ican’tfinishthesentence,andChristian’sexpressionsoftens.
“Hey.”Hereachesuptocaressmyfacewiththebackofhisknuckles.“That
wassabotage.”Adarkexpressioncrosseshisface,andforamomentIwonder
ifheknowswhowasresponsible.
“Icouldn’tbeartoloseyou,”Imurmur.
“Fivepeoplehavebeenfiredbecauseofthat,Ana.Itwon’thappenagain.”
“Five?”
Henods,hisfaceserious.
Holycrap!“Thatremindsme.There’saguninyourdesk.”
Hefrownsatmynonsequiturandprobablyatmyaccusatorytone,thoughI
don’tmeanitthatway.
“It’sLeila’s,”hesaysfinally.
“It’sfullyloaded.”
“Howdoyouknow?”Hisfrowndeepens.
“Icheckedityesterday.”
176|Page
ELJAMES
Hescowlsatme.“Idon’twantyoumessingwithguns.Ihopeyouputthe
safetybackon.”
Iblinkathim,momentarilystupefied.“Christian,there’snosafetyonthat
revolver.Don’tyouknowanythingaboutguns?”
Hiseyeswiden.“Um…no.”
Taylorcoughsdiscreetlyfromtheentrance.Christiannodsathim.
“Wehavetogo,”Christiansays.Hestands,distracted,andslipsonhisgray
jacket.Ifollowhimintothehallway.
HehasLeila’sgun.Iamstunnedbythisnewsandbrieflywonderwhat’s
happenedtoher.Isshestillin—whereisit?Eastsomewhere.New
Hampshire?Ican’tremember.
“Goodmorning,Taylor,”Christiansays.
“Goodmorning,Mr.Grey,Mrs.Grey.”Henodsatusboth,buthe’scareful
nottolookmeintheeye.I’mgrateful,recallingmystateofundresswhenwe
bumpedintoeachotherlastnight.
“Iamjustgoingtobrushmyteeth,”Imutter.Christianalwaysbrusheshis
teethbeforebreakfast.Idon’tunderstandwhy.
“YoushouldaskTaylortoteachyouhowtoshoot,”Isayaswetraveldownin
theelevator.Christiangazesdownatme,amused.
“ShouldInow?”hesaysdryly.
“Yes.”
“Anastasia,Idespiseguns.Mymomhaspatchedupsomanyvictimsofgun
crime,andmydadisvehementlyantigun.Igrewupwiththeirethos.I
supportatleasttwoguncontrolinitiativeshereinWashington.”
“Oh.DoesTaylorcarryagun?”
Christian’smouththins.
“Sometimes.”
“Youdon’tapprove?”Iask,asChristianushersmeoutoftheelevatoronthe
groundfloor.
“No,”hesays,tight-lipped.“Let’sjustsaythatTaylorandIholdvery
differentviewswithregardtoguncontrol.”Oh!IamwithTayloronthis.
ChristianholdsthefoyerdooropenformeandIheadouttothecar.Hehas
notletmedrivealonetoSIPsincehefoundoutthatCharlie177|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Tangowassabotaged.Sawyersmilespleasantly,holdingthedooropenforme
asChristianandIclimbintothecar.
“Please.”IreachacrossandgraspChristian’shand.
“Pleasewhat?”
“Learnhowtoshoot.”
Herollshiseyesatme.“No.Endofdiscussion,Anastasia.”
AndIamachildagaintobescolded.Iopenmymouthtosaysomething
cutting,butdecideIdon’twanttostartmyworkdayinabadmood.Ifoldmy
armsinstead,andglimpseTaylorregardingmeintherearviewmirror.He
looksaway,concentratingontheroadinfront,butshakeshisheadalittle,in
obviousfrustration.Hmm…Christiandriveshimcrazy,too,sometimes.The
thoughtmakesmesmile,andmymoodissaved.
“WhereisLeila?”Iask,asChristiangazesoutofhiswindow.
“Itoldyou.She’sinConnecticutwithherfolks.”Heglancesatme.
“Didyoucheck?Afterall,shedoeshavelonghair.Itcouldhavebeenher
drivingtheDodge.”
“Yes,Ichecked.She’senrolledinanartschoolinHamden.Shestartedthis
week.”
“You’vespokentoher?”Iwhisper,alltheblooddrainingfrommyface.
Christianwhipshisheadaroundatthetoneofmyvoice.
“No.Flynnhas.”Hesearchesmyfaceforacluetomythoughts.
“Isee,”Imurmur,relieved.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Christiansighs.“Ana.Whatisit?”
Ishrug,notwantingtoadmittomyirrationaljealousy.Christiancontinues,
“I’mkeepingtabsonher,checkingthatshestaysonhersideofthecontinent.
She’sbetter,Ana.FlynnhasreferredhertoashrinkinNewHaven,andallthe
reportsareverypositive.She’salwaysbeeninterestedinart,so…”Hestops,
hisfacestillsearchingmine.AndinthatmomentIsuspectthatheispaying
forherartclasses.DoIwanttoknow?ShouldIaskhim?Imeanit’snotlike
hecan’taffordit,butwhydoeshefeeltheobligation?Isigh.Christian’s
baggage,hardlycomparestoBradleyKentfrombiology178|Page
ELJAMES
classandhishalf-assedattemptstokissme.Christianreachesformyhand.
“Don’tsweatthis,Anastasia,”hemurmurs,andIreturnhisreassuring
squeeze.Iknowhe’sdoingwhathethinksisright.
MidmorningIhaveabreakinmeetings.AsIpickupthephonetocallKate,I
noticeane-mailfromChristian.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Flattery
Date:August23,201109:54
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
Ihavereceivedthreecomplimentsonmynewhaircut.Complimentsfrommy
staffarenew.ItmustbetheridiculoussmileI’mwearingwheneverIthink
aboutlastnight.Youareindeedawonderful,talented,beautifulwoman.
Andallmine.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Imeltreadingit.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Tryingtoconcentratehere.
Date:August23,201110:48
To:ChristianGrey
Mr.Grey
179|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Iamtryingtoworkanddon’twanttobedistractedbydeliciousmemories.
IsnowthetimetoconfessthatIusedtocutRay’shairregularly?
Ihadnoideaitwouldbesuchusefultraining.
Andyes,Iamyoursandyou,mydearoverbearinghusbandwhorefusesto
exercisehisconstitutionalrightunderthesecondamendmenttobeararms,
aremine.Butdon’tworrybecauseIshallprotectyou.Always.
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:AnnieOakley
Date:August23,201110:53
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
IamdelightedtoseeyouhavespokentotheITdeptandchangedyourname.
:D
Ishallsleepsafeinmybedknowingthatmygun-totingwifesleepsbeside
me.
ChristianGrey
CEO&Hoplophobe,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Hoplophobe?Whatthehellisthat?
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Longwords
Date:August23,201110:58
To:ChristianGrey
Mr.Grey
180|Page
ELJAMES
Oncemoreyoudazzlemewithyourlinguisticprowess.Infact,yourprowess
ingeneral,andIthinkyouknowwhatI’mreferringto.
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Gasp!
Date:August23,201111:01
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
Areyouflirtingwithme?
ChristianGrey
ShockedCEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Wouldyourather…
Date:August23,201111:04
To:ChristianGrey
Iflirtedwithsomeoneelse?
AnastasiaGrey
BraveCommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Grrrrr
Date:August23,201111:09
To:AnastasiaGrey
181|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
NO!
ChristianGrey
PossessiveCEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Wow…
Date:August23,201111:14
To:ChristianGrey
Areyougrowlingatme?’Causethat’skindahot.
AnastasiaGrey
Squirming(inagoodway)CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Beware
Date:August23,201111:16
To:AnastasiaGrey
Flirtingandtoyingwithme,Mrs.Grey?
Imaypayyouavisitthisafternoon.
ChristianGrey
PriapicCEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:OhNo!
Date:August23,201111:20
To:ChristianGrey
I’lbehave.Iwouldn’twantmyboss’sboss’sbossgettingontopofmeat
work.;)
182|Page
ELJAMES
Nowletmegetonwithmyjob.Myboss’sboss’sbossmayfiremyass.
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:&*%$&*&*
Date:August23,201111:23
To:AnastasiaGrey
BelievemewhenIsaythereareagreatmanythingshe’dliketodotoyour
assrightnow.Firingyouisnotoneofthem.ChristianGrey
CEO&Assman,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Hisresponsemakesmegiggle.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:GoAway!
Date:August23,201111:26
To:ChristianGrey
Don’tyouhaveanempiretorun?
Stopbotheringme.
Mynextappointmentishere.
Ithoughtyouwereabreastman…
Thinkaboutmyass,andI’lthinkaboutyours…ILYx
AnastasiaGrey
NowMoistCommissioningEditor,SIP
183|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
~o0o~
IcannothelpmydespondentmoodasSawyerdrivesmetotheofficeon
Thursday.Christian’sthreatenedbusinesstriptoNewYorkhashappened,and
thoughhe’sonlybeengoneafewhours,Imisshimalready.Ifireupmy
computer,andthere’sanemailwaitingforme.Mymoodliftsimmediately.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Missyoualready
Date:August25,201104:32
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
Youwereadorablethismorning.
BehavewhileI’maway.
Iloveyou.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Thiswillbethefirstnightwe’vesleptapartsincethenightbeforeour
wedding.IintendtohaveafewcocktailswithKate—thatshouldhelpme
sleep.Impulsively,Ie-mailhimback,althoughIknowthathe’sstillflying.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:BehaveYourself!
Date:August25,201109:03
To:ChristianGrey
Letmeknowwhenyouland—I’lworryuntilyoudo.
184|Page
ELJAMES
AndIshallbehave.ImeanhowmuchtroublecanIgetintowithKate?
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
Ihitsendandsipmylatte,courtesyofHannah.WhoknewI’dgrowtolove
coffee?InspiteofthefactthatI’mgoingoutthiseveningwithKate,Ifeel
likeachunkofmeismissing.Atthemoment,it’sthirtyfivethousandfeet
somewhereaboveAmericaenroutetoNewYork.Ididn’tknowIcouldfeel
thisunsettledandanxiousjustbecauseChristian’saway.SurelyovertimeI
won’tfeelthislossanduncertainty,willI?Iletoutaheavysighandcontinue
withmywork.Aroundlunchtime,Istartmanicallycheckingmye-mailand
myBlackBerryforatext.Whereishe?Hashelandedsafely?Hannahasksif
Iwantlunch,butI’mtooapprehensiveandIwaveheraway.Iknowit’s
irrational,butIneedtobesurehe’sarrivedsafely.Myofficephonerings,
startlingme.“AnaSt—Grey.”
“Hi.”Christian’svoiceiswarmwithatraceofamusement.Relieffloods
throughme.
“Hi,”Irespond,grinningfromeartoear.“Howwasyourflight?”
“Long.WhatareyoudoingwithKate?”
Ohno.“We’rejustgoingoutforaquietdrink.”
Christiansaysnothing.
“Sawyerandthenewwoman—Prescott—arecomingwith,towatchoverus,”
Ioffer,tryingtoplacatehim.
“IthoughtKatewascomingtotheapartment.”
“Sheisafteraquickdrink.”Pleaseletmegoout!
Christiansighsheavily.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”hesaysquietly.Too
quietly.
Imentallykickmyself.“Christian,we’llbefine.IhaveRyan,Sawyer,and
Prescotthere.It’sonlyaquickdrink.”
Christianremainsresolutelysilent,andIknowhe’snothappy.“I’veonlyseen
herafewtimessinceyouandImet.Please.She’smybestfriend.”
185|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Ana,Idon’twanttokeepyoufromyourfriends.ButIthoughtshewas
comingbacktotheapartment.”
“Okay,”Iacquiesce.“We’llstayin.”
“Onlywhilethislunaticisoutthere.Please.”
“I’vesaidokay,”Imutterinexasperation,rollingmyeyes.Christiansnorts
softlydownthephone.
“Ialwaysknowwhenyou’rerollingyoureyesatme.”
Iscowlatthereceiver.“Look,I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantoworryyou.I’lltell
Kate.”
“Good,”hebreathes,hisreliefevident.Ifeelguiltyforworryinghim.
“Whereareyou?”
“OnthetarmacatJFK.”
“Oh,soyoujustlanded.”
“Yes.YouaskedmetocallthemomentIlanded.”
Ismile.Mysubconsciousglaresatme.See?Hedoeswhathesayshe’sgoing
todo.
“Well,Mr.Grey,I’mgladoneofusispunctilious.”
Helaughs.“Mrs.Grey,yourgiftforhyperboleknowsnobounds.WhatamI
goingtodowithyou?”
“Iamsureyou’llthinkofsomethingimaginative.Youusuallydo.”
“Areyouflirtingwithme?”
“Yes.”
Isensehisgrin.“I’dbettergo.Ana,doasyou’retold,please.Thesecurity
teamknowswhatthey’redoing.”
“Yes,Christian,Iwill.”Isoundexasperatedagain—butjeez,Igetthe
message.
“I’llseeyoutomorrowevening.I’llcallyoulater.”
“Tocheckuponme?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,Christian!”Iscoldhim.
“Aurevoir,Mrs.Grey.”
“Aurevoir,Christian.Iloveyou.”
Heinhalessharply.“AndIyou,Ana.”
Neitherofushangsup.
“Hangup,Christian,”Iwhisper.
“You’reabossylittlething,aren’tyou?”
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ELJAMES
“Yourbossylittlething.”
“Mine,”hebreathes.“Doasyou’retold.Hangup.”
“Yes,Sir.”Ihangupandgrinstupidlyatthephone.Afewmomentslater,an
e-mailappearsinmyinbox.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:TwitchingPalms
Date:August25,201113:42EDT
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
Youareasentertainingaseveronthephone.
Imeanit.Doasyou’retold.
Ineedtoknowyou’resafe.
Iloveyou.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Honestly,he’sthebossyone.Butonephonecallandallmyanxietyhas
disappeared.He’sarrivedsafelyandhe’sfussingaboutmeasusual.Ihug
myselfmomentarily.God,Ilovethatman.Hannahknocksonmydoor,
distractingme,andIlandbackwithathumpinmyoffice.
Katelooksgorgeous.Inhertightwhitejeansandredcamisole,she’sreadyto
rockthetown.She’schattinganimatedlytoClaireinreceptionwhenImake
myentrance.
“Ana!”shecries,scoopingmeupinaKatehug.Sheholdsmeatarm’s
length.
“Don’tyoulookthemogul’swife?Whowouldhavethought,littleAna
Steele?Youlookso…sophisticated!”Shegrins.Irollmyeyesather.I’m
wearingapalecreamshiftdresswithanavybeltandnavypumps.
“It’sgoodtoseeyou,Kate.”Ihugherback.
187|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“So,wherearewegoing?”
“Christianwantsustogobacktotheapartment.”
“Aw,really?Can’twesneakaquickcocktailattheZigZagCafe?
I’vebookedusatable.”
Iopenmymouthtoprotest.
“Please?”shewhinesandpoutsprettily.Shemustbepickingthisupfrom
Mia.Sheneverpoutsnormally.I’dreallylikeacocktailattheZigZag.We
hadsuchfunthelasttimewewentthere,andit’sclosetoKate’sapartment.
Iholdupmyindexfinger.“One.”
Shegrins.“One”Shelinksherarminmine,andwestrollouttothecar,
whichisparkedatthecurbwithSawyeratthewheel.We’refollowedoutby
MissSamanthaPrescottwho’snewtothesecurityteam––atallAfrican-
Americanwithano-nonsenseattitude.I’veyettowarmtoher,maybe
becauseshe’stoocoolandprofessional.Thejury’sdefinitelyout,butlikethe
restoftheteam,she’sbeenhand-pickedbyTaylor.She’sdressedlikeSawyer,
inadarksomberpantsuit.
“CanyoutakeustotheZigZag,please,Sawyer?”
Sawyerturnstolookatme,andIknowhewantstosaysomething.He’s
obviouslybeengivenhisorders.Hehesitates.
“TheZigZagCafé.We’llonlyhaveone.”
IgiveKateasidewaysglanceandshe’sglaringatSawyer.Poorman.
“Yes,ma’am.”
“Mr.Greyrequestedyougobacktotheapartment,”Prescottpipesup.
“Mr.Greyisn’there,”Isnap.“TheZigZag,please.”
“Ma’am,”SawyerreplieswithasidewaysglanceatPrescott,whowisely
holdshertongue.
Kategapesatmeasifshecan’tbelievehereyesandears.Ipursemylipsand
shrug.Okay,soI’malittlemoreassertivethanIusedtobe.Katenodsas
Sawyerpullsoutintotheearlyeveningtraffic.
“YouknowtheadditionalsecurityisdrivingGraceandMiacrazy,”
Katesayscasually.
What?Igawkather,baffled.
“Youdidn’tknow?”Sheseemsincredulous.
“Knowwhat?”
188|Page
ELJAMES
“SecurityforalloftheGreyshasbeentripled.Gazillioned,even.”
“Really?”
“Hehasn’ttoldyou?”
Iflush.“No.”Damnit,Christian!“Doyouknowwhy?”
“JackHyde.”
“WhataboutJack?IthoughthewasjustafterChristian,”Igasp.Jeez.Why
hasn’thetoldme?
“SinceMonday,”Katesays.
LastMonday?Hmm…weidentifiedJackonSunday.ButwhyalltheGreys?
What’sgoingon?
“Howdoyouknowallthis?”
“Elliot.”
Ofcourse.
“Christianhasn’ttoldyouanyofthis,hashe?”
Iflushoncemore.“No.”
“Oh,Ana,howannoying.”
Isigh.Asever,Katehashitthenailsquarelyontheheadinherusual
sledgehammerstyle.“Doyouknowwhy?”IfChristian’snotgoingtotellme,
thenmaybeKatewill.
“Elliotsaidit’ssomethingtodowithinformationstoredonJackHyde’s
computerwhenhewasatSIP.”
Holycrap.“You’rekidding.”Asurgeofangerpulsesthroughme.Howdoes
KateknowaboutthiswhenIdon’t?
IglanceuptoseeSawyereyeingmefromtherearviewmirror.Theredlight
turnstogreenandhesurgesforward,focusingontheroadahead.Iholdmy
fingeruptomylipsandKatenods.IbetSawyerknows,too,andIdon’t.
“How’sElliot?”Iasktochangethesubject.
Kategrinsstupidly,tellingmeallIneedtoknow.Sawyerpullsupattheend
ofthepassagewaythatleadsdowntotheZigZagCafé,andPrescottopens
mydoor.IscootoutandKatescramblesoutafterme.Welinkarmsand
meanderdownthepassage,followedbyPrescott,who’swearingathunderous
expressiononherface.Oh,forheaven’ssake,it’sjustadrink.Sawyerdrives
offtoparkthecar.
189|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“SohowdoesElliotknowGia?”Iask,takingasipofmysecondstrawberry
mojito.Thebarisintimateandcozy,andIdon’twanttoleave.KateandI
havenotstoppedtalking.IhadforgottenhowmuchIlikehangingwithher.
It’sliberatingtobeout,relaxing,enjoyingKate’scompany.Icontemplate
textingChristianthendismisstheidea.He’lljustbemadandmakemego
homelikeanerrantchild.
“Don’ttalktomeaboutthatbitch!”Katesplutters.Kate’sreactionmakesme
laugh.
“What’ssofunny,Steele?”shesnaps,butnotseriously.
“Ifeelthesameway.”
“Youdo?”
“Yes.ShewasalloverChristian.”
“ShehadaflingwithElliot.”Katepouts.
“No!”
Shenods,herlipspressedtogetherinthepatentedKatherineKavanaghscowl.
“Itwasbrief.Lastyear,Ithink.She’sasocialclimber.Nowondershehasher
sightssetonChristian.”
“Christianistaken.ItoldhertoleavehimaloneorIwouldfireher.”
Kategapesatmeoncemore,stunned.Inodproudly,andsheliftsherglassto
saluteme,impressedandbeaming.
“Mrs.AnastasiaGrey!Waytogo!”Weclink.
“DoesElliotownagun?”
“No.He’sveryantigun.”Katestirsherthirddrink.
“Christian,too.IthinkitwasGraceandCarrick’sinfluence,”Imutter.I’m
feelingalittletipsy.
“Carrick’sagoodman.”Katenods.
“Hewantedaprenup,”Imuttersadly.
“Oh,Ana.”Shereachesacrossandgraspsmyarm.“Hewasonlylookingout
forhisboy.Aswebothknow,youhavegold-diggertattooedonyour
forehead.”Shesmilesatme,andIpokemytongueoutatherthengiggle.
“Mature,Mrs.Grey,”shesaysgrinning.ShesoundslikeChristian.
“You’lldothesameforyoursononeday.”
190|Page
ELJAMES
“Myson?”Igapeather.Ithadn’tevencrossedmymindthatmykidswillbe
rich.Holycrap.They’llwantfornothing.Imean…nothing.Thisneeds
furtherthought—butnotrightnow.IglanceatPrescottandSawyerseated
nearby,watchingusandtheeveningcrowdfromasidetablewhiletheyeach
nurseaglassofsparklingmineralwater.
“Doyouthinkweshouldeat?”Iask.
“No.Weshoulddrink,”Katesays.
“Whyareyouinsuchadrinkingmood?”
“BecauseIdon’tseeenoughofyouanymore.Ididn’tknowyou’dupand
marrythefirstguywhoturnedyourhead.”Shepoutsagain.
“Honestly,youmarriedwithsuchindecenthastethatIthoughtyouwere
pregnant.”
Igiggle.“EveryonethoughtIwaspregnant,”Imutter.“Let’snotrehashthat
conversationagain.Please!AndIhavetousetherestroom.”
Prescottaccompaniesme.Shesaysnothing.Shedoesn’thaveto.Disapproval
radiatesoffherlikealethalisotope.
“Ihaven’tbeenoutonmyownsinceIgotmarried,”Imutterwordlesslyat
theclosedtoiletdoor.Imakeaface,knowingthatshe’sstandingontheother
sideofthedoor,waitingwhileIpee.WhatpreciselyisHydegoingtodoina
baranyway?Christianisjustoverreactingasusual.
“Kate,it’slate.Weshouldgo.”
It’stenfifteenandIhavedownedmyfourthstrawberrymojito.Iam
definitelyfeelingtheeffectsofthealcohol,warmandfuzzy.Christianwillbe
fine.Eventually.
“Sure,Ana.It’sbeensogoodtoseeyou.Youjustseemsomuchmore,Idon’t
know…confident.Marriageobviouslyagreeswithyou.”
Myfacewarms.ComingfromMissKatherineKavanagh,thisisindeeda
compliment.
“Itdoes,”Iwhisper,andbecauseI’veprobablyhadtoomuchtodrink,tears
prickthebackofmyeyes.CouldIbeanyhappier?Inspiteofallhisbaggage,
hisnature,hisFiftyness,Ihavemetandmarriedthe191|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
manofmydreams.Iquicklychangethesubjecttostemmysentimental
thoughts,becauseIknowIwillcryotherwise.
“Ihavereallyenjoyedthisevening.”IgraspKate’shand.“Thankyoufor
draggingmeout!”Wehug.Asshereleasesme,InodatSawyerandhehands
Prescottthekeystothecar.
“I’msureMissGoody-Two-ShoesPrescotthastoldChristianI’mnotat
home.He’llbemad,”ImuttertoKate.Andmaybehe’llthinkofsome
deliciouswaytopunishme…hopefully.
“Whyareyougrinninglikealoon,Ana?YoulikemakingChristianmad?”
“No.Notreally.Butit’seasilydone.He’sverycontrollingsometimes.”Most
ofthetime.
“I’venoticed,”Katesayswryly.
WepullupoutsideKate’sapartment.Shehugsmehard.
“Don’tbeastranger,”shewhispersandkissesmycheek.Thenshe’soutof
thecar.Iwave,feelingstrangelyhomesick.Ihavemissedgirltalk.It’sfun
andrelaxing,andremindsmethatI’mstillyoung.Imustmakemoreofan
efforttoseeKate,butthetruthis,IlovebeinginmybubblewithChristian.
Lastnightweattendedacharitydinnertogether.Thereweresomanymenin
suitsandwell-groomedelegantwomentalkingaboutrealestatepricesandthe
failingeconomyandtheplungingstockmarkets.Imean,itwasdull,really
dull.Soit’srefreshingtoletmyhairdownwithsomeonemyownage.My
stomachrumbles.Jeez,Istillhaven’teaten.Shit—Christian!Iscramble
throughmypurseandfishoutmyBlackBerry.Holycrap—
fivemissedcalls!Onetext…
*WHERETHEHELLAREYOU?*
Andonee-mail.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Angry.You’venotseenangry
Date:August26,201100:42EST
192|Page
ELJAMES
To:AnastasiaGrey
Anastasia
Sawyertellsmethatyouaredrinkingcocktailsinabarwhenyousaidyou
wouldn’t.
DoyouhaveanyideahowmadIamatthemoment?
I’lseeyoutomorrow.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Myheartsinks.Ohshit!Ireallyamintrouble.Mysubconsciousglaresatme,
thenshrugs,wearingheryou-made-your-bed-you-lie-in-itface.WhatdidI
expect?Icontemplatecallinghim,butit’slateandhe’sprobablyasleep…or
pacing.Idecideaquicktextmaybeenough.
*I’MSTILLINONEPIECE.IHADANICETIME.MISSING
YOU—PLEASEDON’TBEMAD*
IgazeatmyBlackBerry,willinghimtorespond,butit’sominouslysilent.I
sigh.
PrescottpullsupoutsideEscalaandSawyergetsouttoholdthedooropenfor
me.Aswestandwaitingfortheelevator,Itaketheopportunitytoquizhim.
“WhattimedidChristiancallyou?”
Sawyerflushes.“Aboutninethirty,ma’am.”
“Whydidn’tyouinterruptmyconversationwithKatesoIcouldspeakwith
him?”
“Mr.Greytoldmenotto.”
Ipursemylips.Theelevatorarrives,andwerideupinsilence.I’msuddenly
gratefulthatChristianhasawholenighttorecoverfromhissnit-fit,andthat
he’sontheothersideofthecountry.Itgivesmesometime.Ontheotherhand
…Imisshim.
Thedoorstotheelevatoropen,andforasplitsecondIstareatthefoyertable.
Whatiswrongwiththispicture?Thevaseofflowerslies193|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
smashedintofragmentsalloverthefloorofthefoyer,waterandflowersand
chunksofchinaarestrewneverywhere,andthetableisoverturned.Sawyer
grabsmyarmandpullsmebackintotheelevator.
“Staythere,”hehisses,drawingagun.Hestepsintothefoyeranddisappears
frommyfieldofvision.
Ohno!Icowerinthebackoftheelevator.What’sgoingon?
“Luke!”IhearRyancallfrominsidethegreatroom.“Codeblue!”
Codeblue?
“Youhavetheperp?”Sawyercallsback.“JesusH.Christ!”
Iflattenmyselfagainsttheelevatorwall.Whatthehellishappening?
Adrenalinespikesthroughmybody,andmyheartleapsintomythroat.Ihear
softvoices,andamomentlaterSawyerreappearsinthefoyer,standinginthe
puddleofwater.Hereholstershisgun.
“Youcancomein,Mrs.Grey,”hesaysgently.
“What’shappened,Luke?”Myvoiceisbarelyawhisper.
“We’vehadavisitor.”Hetakesmyelbow,andI’mgratefulforthesupport—
mylegshaveturnedtojelly.Iwalkwithhimthroughtheopendoubledoors.
Ryanisstandingattheentranceofthegreatroom.Acutabovehiseyeis
bleeding,andthere’sanotheronhismouth.Helooksroughedup,hisclothes
disheveled.Butwhat’smoreshockingisMr.JackHydeslumpedathisfeet.
194|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterTen
Myheartispoundingandbloodthrumsloudlyinmyeardrums;thealcohol
flowingthroughmysystem,amplifyingthesound.
“Ishe—”Igasp,unabletofinishthesentenceandgazingwideeyedand
terrifiedatRyan.Ican’tevenlookatthepronefigureonthefloor.
“No,ma’am.Justknockedoutcold.”
Relieffloodsthroughme.OhthankGod.
“Andyou?”Iask,gazingatRyan.IrealizeIdon’tknowhisfirstname.He’s
pantingasifhe’srunamarathon.Hewipesthecornerofhismouth,removing
thetraceofblood,andafaintbruiseisformingonhischeek.
“Heputuponehellofafight,butI’mokay,Mrs.Grey.”Hesmiles
reassuringly.IfIknewhimbetter,I’dsayhelookedalittlesmug.
“AndGail?Mrs.Jones?”Ohno…issheokay?Hasshebeenharmed?
“I’mhere,Ana.”Glancingbehindme,she’sinanightdressandrobe,herhair
loose,herfaceashenandhereyeswide—likemine,Iimagine.
“Ryanwokeme.InsistedIcomeinhere.”ShepointsbehindherintoTaylor’s
office.“I’mfine.Areyouokay?”
Inodbrisklyandrealizeshe’sprobablyjustcomeoutofthepanicroombuilt
adjoiningTaylor’soffice.Whoknewwe’dneeditsosoon?
Christianhadinsistedonitsinstallationshortlyafterourengagement—
andIhadrolledmyeyes.Now,seeingGailstandinginthedoorway,I’m
gratefulforhisforesight.
Acreakfromthedoortothefoyerdistractsme.It’shangingoffitshinges.
Whatthehellhappenedtothat?
“Washealone?”IaskRyan.
“Yes,ma’am.Youwouldn’tbestandinghereifhewasn’t,Icanassureyou.”
Ryansoundsvaguelyaffronted.
“Howdidhegetin?”Iask,ignoringhistone.
195|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Throughtheserviceelevator.He’sgotquiteapair,ma’am.”
IstaredownatJack’sslumpedfigure.He’swearingauniformofsorts—
coveralls,Ithink.
“When?”
“Abouttenminutesago.Icaughthimonthesecuritymonitor.Hewas
wearinggloves…kindastrangeinAugust.Irecognizedhimanddecidedto
givehimaccess.ThatwayIknewwe’dhavehim.Youweren’thereandGail
wassafe,soIfigureditwasnowornever.”Ryanlooksverypleasedwith
himselfoncemore,andSawyerscowlsathimindisapproval.
Gloves?Thethoughtdistractsme,andIglanceoncemoreatJack.Yes,he’s
wearingbrownleathergloves.Creepy.
“Whatnow?”Itrytodismisstheramificationsfrommymind.
“Weneedtosecurehim,”Ryanreplies.
“Securehim?”
“Incasehewakes.”RyanglancesatSawyer.
“Whatdoyouneed?”asksMrs.Jones,steppingforward.She’srecoveredher
composure.
“Somethingtorestrainhim—cordorrope,”Ryanreplies.Cableties.Iflush
asmemoriesofthepreviousnightinvademymind.Reflexively,Irubmy
wristsandglancequicklydownatthem.No,nobruising.Good.
“Ihavesomething.Cableties.Willtheydo?”
Alleyesturntome.
“Yes,ma’am.Perfect,”Sawyersays,seriousandstraight-faced.Iwantthe
floortoswallowmeup,butIturnandheadforourbedroom.Sometimesyou
justhavetobrazenthingsout.Perhapsit’sthecombinationoffearand
alcoholmakingmeaudacious.WhenIreturn,Mrs.Jonesissurveyingthe
messinthefoyerandMissPrescotthasjoinedthesecurityteam.Ihandthe
tiestoSawyer,whoslowly,andwithfranklyunnecessarycare,tiesHyde’s
handsbehindhisback.Mrs.Jonesdisappearsintothekitchenandreturns
withafirstaidkit.ShetakesRyan’sarm,leadshimintothedoorwayofthe
greatroomandstartstendingtothecutabovehiseye.Heflinchesasshedabs
itwithanantisepticwipe.ThenInoticetheGlockonthefloorwithasilencer
attached.Holyshit!Jackwasarmed?BilerisesinmythroatandIfightit
down.
196|Page
ELJAMES
“Don’ttouch,Mrs.Grey,”saysPrescottwhenIbendtopickitup.Sawyer
emergesfromTaylor’sofficewearinglatexgloves.
“I’lltakecareofthat,Mrs.Grey,”hesays.
“It’shis?”Iask.
“Yesma’am,”saysRyan,wincingoncemorefromMrs.Jones’sministrations.
Holycrap.Ryanfoughtanarmedmaninmyhome.Ishudderatthethought.
SawyerbendsandgingerlypicksuptheGlock.
“Shouldyoubedoingthat?”Iask.
“Mr.Greywouldexpectitma’am.”Sawyerslidesthegunintoazip-lockbag
thensquatstopatdownJack.Hepausesandpartiallypullsarollofducttape
fromtheman’spocket.Sawyerblanches,andpushesthetapebackinto
Hyde’spocket.
Whyducttape?MymindidlyregistersasIwatchtheproceedingswith
fascinationandanodddetachment.ThenbilerisestomythroatagainasI
realizetheimplications.Rapidly,Idismissthemfrommyhead.Don’tgo
there,Ana!
“Shouldwecallthepolice?”Imutter,tryingtohidemyfear.IwantHydeout
ofmyhome,soonerratherthanlater.
RyanandSawyerglanceateachother.
“Ithinkweshouldcallthepolice,”Isayrathermoreforcefully,wondering
what’sgoingonbetweenRyanandSawyer.
“I’vejusttriedTaylorandhe’snotansweringhiscell.Maybehe’sasleep.”
Sawyercheckshiswatch.“It’soneforty-fiveinthemorningontheEast
Coast.”
Ohno.
“HaveyoucalledChristian?”Iwhisper.
“No,ma’am.”
“WereyoucallingTaylorforinstructions?”
Sawyerlooksmomentarilyembarrassed.“Yes,ma’am.”
Partofmebristles.Thisman—IglancedownatHydeagain—hasinvadedmy
home,andheneedstoberemovedbythepolice.Butlookingatthefourof
them,intotheiranxiouseyes,IdecideImustbemissingsomethingsoI
decidetocallChristian.Myscalpprickles.Iknowhe’smadatme—really,
reallymadatme—andIfalteratthethoughtofwhathe’llsay.Andhowhe’ll
stressbecausehe’snothereandcan’tbehereuntiltomorrowevening.Iknow
I’veworriedhimenoughthisevening.PerhapsIshouldn’tcallhim.Andthen
itoccursto197|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
me.Shit.WhatifI’dbeenhere?Ipaleatthethought.ThankheavensIwas
out.MaybeIwon’tbeinsomuchtroubleafterall.
“Isheokay?”Iask,pointingatJack.
“He’llhaveanachingskullwhenhewakes,”Ryansays,gazingdownatJack
withcontempt.“Butweneedparamedicsheretomakesure.”
IreachintomypurseandpulloutmyBlackBerry,andbeforeIcangivetoo
muchthoughttotheextentofChristian’sanger,Idialhisnumber.Itgoes
straighttovoicemail.Hemusthaveswitcheditoffbecausehe’ssomad.I
cannotthinkwhattosay.Turningaway,Iwalkdownthehallwayalittle,
awayfromeveryone.
“Hi.It’sme.Pleasedon’tbemad.We’vehadanincidentattheapartment.But
it’sundercontrol,sodon’tworry.Nooneishurt.Callme.”Ihangup.
“Callthepolice.”ItellSawyer.Henods,takesouthiscell,andmakesthe
call.
OfficerSkinnerisdeepinconversationwithRyanatthediningroomtable.
OfficerWalkeriswithSawyerinTaylor’soffice.Idon’tknowwherePrescott
is,perhapsinTaylor’soffice.DetectiveClarkisbarkingquestionsatmeas
wesitonthecouchinthegreatroom.He’stall,darkandwouldbegood
lookingifitwasn’tforhispermanentscowl.Isuspecthe’sbeenwokenand
draggedfromhiswarmbedbecausethehomeofoneofSeattle’smost
influentialandwealthybusinessmenhasbeenbreached.
“Heusedtobeyourboss?”Clarkaskstersely.
“Yes.”
Iamtired—beyondtired—andIwanttogotobed.Istillhaven’theardfrom
Christian.Ontheplusside,Hydehasbeenremovedbytheparamedics.Mrs.
JoneshandsmeandDetectiveClarkeachacupoftea.
“Thanks,”gruntsClarkandturnsbacktome.“AndwhereisMr.Grey?”
“NewYork.Onbusiness.He’llbebacktomorrowevening,Imeanthis
evening.”It’saftermidnight.
198|Page
ELJAMES
“Hydeisknowntous,”DetectiveClarkmurmurs.“I’llneedyoutocome
downtothestationtomakeastatement.Butthatcanwait.It’slateandthere
areacoupleofreporterscampedoutonthesidewalk.DoyoumindifIlook
around?”
“Ofcoursenot,”Ioffer,relievedhisquestioningisfinished.Ishudderatthe
thoughtofthephotographersoutside.Well,theywon’tbeaproblemuntil
tomorrow.IremindmyselftocallmymomandRayjustincasetheyhear
anythingandworry.
“Mrs.Grey,mayIsuggestyougotobed?”Mrs.Jonessays,hervoicewarm
andfullofconcern.
Lookingintoherwarm,kindeyesIsuddenlyfeelanoverwhelmingneedto
cry.Shereachesoverandrubsmyshoulder.
“We’resafenow,”shemurmurs.“Thiswillalllookbetterinthemorning
onceyou’vehadsomesleep.AndMr.Greywillbebacktomorrowevening.”
Iglancenervouslyupather,keepingmytearsatbay.Christianisgoingtobe
somad.
“CanIgetyouanythingbeforeyougotobed?”sheasks.What?Andinthat
moment,IrealizehowhungryIam.“I’dlovesomethingtoeat.”
Shesmilesbroadly.“Sandwichandsomemilk?”
Inodwithgratitude,andsheheadsintothekitchen.RyanisstillwithOfficer
Skinner.InthefoyerDetectiveClarkisexaminingthemessoutsidethe
elevator.Helooksthoughtful,inspiteofhisscowl.AndsuddenlyIfeel
homesick—homesickforChristian.Holdingmyheadinmyhands,Iwish
ferventlythathewerehere.He’dknowwhattodo.Whatanevening.Iwant
tocrawlintohislap,havehimholdmeandtellmethathelovesme,even
thoughIdon’tdoasI’mtold—butthatwon’tbepossibleuntilthisevening.
InwardlyIrollmyeyes…Whydidn’thetellmeabouttheincreasedsecurity
foreveryone?WhatexactlyisonJack’scomputer?He’ssofrustratingbut
rightnow,Ijustdon’tcare.Iwantmyhusband.Imisshim.
“Hereyouare,Anadear.”Mrs.Jonesinterruptsmyinnerturmoil.WhenI
glanceupather,shehandsmeapeanutbutterandjellysandwich,hereyes
twinkling.Ihaven’thadoneoftheseforyears.Ismileshylyanddigin.
199|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
WhenIfinallycrawlintobed,IcurluponChristian’sside,dressedinhisT-
shirt.BothhispillowandhisT-shirtsmellofhim,andasIdriftoffIsilently
wishhimsafepassagehome…andagoodmood.
Iwakewithastart.It’slightandmyheadisaching,throbbingatmytemples.
Ohno.IhopeIdon’thaveahangover.Cautiously,Iopenmyeyes,andas
theyflutteropenInoticethebedroomchairhasmoved,andChristianis
seatedinit.He’swearinghistux,andtheendofhisbowtieispeepingoutof
thebreastpocket.IwonderifI’mdreaming.Hisleftarmisdrapedoverthe
chair,andinhishandheholdsacutglasstumblerofamberliquid.Brandy?
Whiskey?Ihavenoidea.Onelonglegiscrossedattheankleoverhisknee.
He’swearingblacksocksanddressshoes.Hisrightelbowrestsonthearmof
thechair,hishandathischin,andhe’sslowlyrunninghisindexfinger
rhythmicallybackandforthoverhislowerlip.Intheearlymorninglight,his
eyesburnwithgraveintensitybuthisgeneralexpressioniscompletely
unreadable.
Myheartalmoststops.He’shere.Howdidhegethere?Hemusthaveleft
NewYorklastnight.Howlonghashebeenherewatchingmesleep?
“Hi,”Iwhisper.
Heregardsmecoolly,andmyheartstuttersoncemore.Ohno.Hemoveshis
longfingersawayfromhismouth,tossestheremainderofhisdrinkdownhis
throat,reachesoverandplacestheglassonthebedsidetable.Ihalfexpect
himtokissme,buthedoesn’t.Hesitsback,continuingtoregardme,his
expressionimpassive.
“Hello,”hesaysfinally,hisvoicehushed.AndIknowhe’sstillmad.Really
mad.
“You’reback.”
“Itwouldappearso.”
SlowlyIpullmyselfupintoasittingposition,nottakingmyeyesoffhim.My
mouthisdry.“Howlonghaveyoubeensittingtherewatchingmesleep?”
“Longenough.”
“You’restillmad.”Icanhardlyspeakthewords.
200|Page
ELJAMES
Hegazesatme,asifconsideringhisresponse.“Mad,”hesaysasiftestingthe
word,weighingupitsnuances,itsmeaning.“No,Ana.Iamfar,farbeyond
mad.”
Holycrap.Itrytoswallow,butit’shardwithadrymouth.
“Farbeyondmad…thatdoesn’tsoundgood.”Shit!
Hegazesatme,completelyimpassive,anddoesn’trespond.Astarksilence
stretchesbetweenus.Ireachovertomyglassofno-longerquite-so-sparkling
waterandtakeawelcomesip,tryingtobringmyerraticheartrateunder
control.
“RyancaughtJack.”Itryadifferenttack,andIplacemyglassbesidehison
thebedsidetable.
“Iknow,”hesaysicily.
Ofcourseheknows.“Areyougoingtobemonosyllabicforlong?”
Hiseyebrowsmovefractionallyregisteringhissurpriseasifhehadn’t
expectedthisquestion.“Yes,”hesaysfinally.Oh…okay.Whattodo?
Defense—thebestformofattack.“I’msorryIstayedout.”
“Areyou?”
“No,”Imutterafterapause,becauseit’strue.
“Whysayitthen?”
“BecauseIdon’twantyoutobemadatme.”
Hesighsheavilyasifhe’sbeenholdingthistensionforathousandhoursand
runshishandthroughhishair.Helooksbeautiful.Mad,butbeautiful.Idrink
himin—Christian’sback—angry,butinonepiece.
“IthinkDetectiveClarkwantstotalktoyou.”
“I’msurehedoes.”
“Christian,please…”
“Pleasewhat?”
“Don’tbesocold.”
Hiseyebrowsriseinsurpriseoncemore.“Anastasia,coldisnotwhatI’m
feelingatthemoment.I’mburning.Burningwithrage.Idon’tknowhowto
dealwiththese”—hewaveshishandsearchingfortheword—“feelings.”His
toneisbitter.
Ohshit.Hishonestydisarmsme.AllIwanttodoiscrawlintohislap.It’sall
I’vewantedtodosinceIcamehomelastnight.Butrightnow,Idon’tthink
it’sagoodidea.Isit?Tohellwiththis.Imove,takinghimbysurpriseand
climbingawkwardlyintohislap,whereI201|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
curlup.Hedoesn’tpushmeaway,whichiswhatI’dfeared.Afterabeat,he
foldshisarmsaroundmeandburieshisnoseinmyhair.Hesmellsof
whiskey.Jeez,howmuchdidhedrink?Hesmellsofbodywash,too…he
smellsofChristian.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneckandnuzzlehisthroat,
andhesighsoncemore,deeplythistime.
“Oh,Mrs.Grey.WhatamIgoingtodowithyou?”Hekissesthetopofmy
head.Iclosemyeyes,relishingthecontactwithhim.
“Howmuchhaveyouhadtodrink?”
Hestills.“Why?”
“Youdon’tnormallydrinkhardliquor.”
“Thisismysecondglass.I’vehadatryingnight,Anastasia.Giveamana
break.”
Ismile.“Ifyouinsist,Mr.Grey,”Ibreatheintohisneck.“Yousmell
heavenly.Isleptonyoursideofthebedbecauseyourpillowsmellsofyou.”
Henuzzlesmyhair.“Didyounow?Iwonderedwhyyouwereonthisside.
I’mstillmadatyou.”
“Iknow.”
Hishandrhythmicallystrokesmyback.
“AndI’mmadatyou,”Iwhisper.
Hepauses.“Andwhat,pray,haveIdonetodeserveyourire?”
“I’lltellyoulaterwhenyou’renolongerburningwithrage.”Ikisshisthroat.
Hecloseshiseyesandleansintomykissbutmakesnomovetokissmeback.
Hisarmstightenaroundme,squeezingme.
“WhenIthinkofwhatmighthavehappened…”Hisvoiceisbarelya
whisper.Broken,raw.
“I’mokay.”
“Oh,Ana.”It’salmostasob.
“I’mokay.We’reallokay.Abitshaken.ButGailisfine.Ryanisfine.And
Jackisgone.”
Heshakeshishead.“Nothankstoyou,”hemutters.What?Ileanback,and
glareathim.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Idon’twanttoargueaboutitrightnow,Ana.”
Iblink.Well,maybeIdo,butIdecideagainstit.Atleasthe’stalkingtome.I
nestleintohimoncemore.Hisfingersmovetomyhairandstartplayingwith
it.
202|Page
ELJAMES
“Iwanttopunishyou,”hewhispers.“Reallybeattheshitoutofyou,”he
adds.
Myheartleapsintomymouth.Fuck.“Iknow,”Iwhisperasmyscalp
prickles.
“MaybeIwill.”
“Ihopenot.”
Hehugsmetighter.“Ana,Ana,Ana.You’dtrythepatienceofasaint.”
“Icouldaccuseyouofmanythings,Mr.Grey,butbeingasaintisn’toneof
them.”
FinallyIamblessedwithhisreluctantchuckle.“Fairpointwellmadeasever,
Mrs.Grey.”Hekissesmyforeheadandshifts.
“Backtobed.Youhadalatenight,too.”Hemovesquickly,pickingmeup
anddepositingmebackonthebed.
“Liedownwithme?”
“No.Ihavethingstodo.”Hereachesdownandcollectstheglass.
“Gobacktosleep.I’llwakeyouinacoupleofhours.”
“Areyoustillmadatme?”
“Yes.”
“I’llgobacktosleep,then.”
“Good.”Hepullstheduvetovermeandkissesmyforeheadoncemore.
“Sleep.”
AndbecauseI’msogroggyfromthenightbefore,relievedthathe’sback,and
emotionallyfatiguedbyourearly-morningencounter,IdoexactlyasI’mtold.
AsIdriftoffI’mcuriousthoughgrateful,giventhenastytasteinmymouth,
toknowwhyhehasn’tdeployedhisusualcopingmechanismandleaptonme
tohavehiswickedway.
“There’ssomeorangejuiceforyouhere,”Christiansays,andmyeyesflutter
openagain.IhavehadthemostrestfultwohoursofsleepIcanremember,
andIwakerefreshed,myheadnolongerthrobbing.Theorangejuiceisa
welcomesight—asismyhusband.He’sinhissweats.AndI’mmomentarily
zappedbacktotheHeathmanHotelandthefirsttimeIeverwokeupwith
him.Hisgraytanktopisdampwithhissweat.Eitherhe’sbeenworkingout
inthebasementgymorhe’sbeenforarun,butheshouldn’tlookthisgood
afteraworkout.203|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’mgoingtotakeashower,”hemurmursanddisappearstothebathroom.I
frown.He’sstilldistant.He’seitherdistractedbyallthat’shappened,orstill
mad,or…what?Isitupandreachfortheorangejuice,drinkingitdowntoo
quickly.It’sdelicious,icecold,anditmakesmymouthamuchbetterplace.I
clamberoutofbed,anxioustoclosethedistance—realandmetaphysical—
betweenmyhusbandandme.Iglancequicklyatthealarm.It’seighto’clock.
IstripoffChristian’sTshirtandfollowhimintothebathroom.He’sinthe
shower,washinghishair,andIdon’thesitate.Islipinbehindhimandhe
stiffensthemomentIwrapmyarmsaroundhim—myfronttohiswet,
muscularback.Iignorehisreaction,holdinghimtightly,andpressmycheek
flatagainsthim,closingmyeyes.Afteramoment,heshiftssoweareboth
underthecascadeofhotwaterandcarriesonwashinghishair.Iletthewater
washovermeasIcradlethemanIlove.Ithinkofallthetimeshe’sfucked
meandallthetimeshe’smadelovetomeinhere.Ifrown.He’sneverbeen
thisquiet.Turningmyhead,Istarttotrailkissesacrosshisback.Hisbody
stiffensagain.
“Ana,”hewarns.
“Hmm.”
Myhandstravelslowlydownoverhistautstomachtohisbelly.Heplaces
bothhishandsonmineandbringsthemtoanabrupthalt.Heshakeshishead.
“Don’t,”hewarns.
Oh.Ireleasehim,immediately.He’ssayingno?Mymindgoesintofreefall—
hasthiseverhappenedbefore?Mysubconsciousshakesherhead,herlips
pursed.Sheglaresatmeoverherhalf-moonglasses,wearingheryou’ve-
really-fucked-up-this-timelook.IfeellikeI’vebeenslapped,hard.Rejected.
Andalifetimeofinsecurityspawnstheuglythoughthedoesn’twantme
anymore.Igaspasthepainsearsthroughme.Christianturns,andI’m
relievedtoseehe’snotcompletelyoblivioustomycharms.Graspingmy
chin,hetiltsmyheadback,andIfindmyselfgazingintohiswary,beautiful
eyes.
“I’mstillfuckingmadatyou,”hesays,hisvoicequietandserious.Shit!
Leaningdown,herestshisforeheadagainstmine,closinghiseyes.Ireachup
andcaresshisface.
“Don’tbemadatme,please.Ithinkyou’reoverreacting,”Iwhisper.
204|Page
ELJAMES
Hestraightens,blanching.Myhandfallsfreetomyside.
“Overreacting?”hesnarls.“Somefuckinglunaticgetsintomyapartmentto
kidnapmywife,andyouthinkI’moverreacting!”Therestrainedmenacein
hisvoiceisfrightening,andhiseyesblazeashestaresatmelikeI’mthe
fuckinglunatic.
“No…um,that’snotwhatIwasreferringto.Ithoughtthiswasaboutme
stayingout.”
Hecloseshiseyesoncemoreasifinpainandshakeshishead.
“Christian,Iwasn’there.”Itrytoappeaseandreassurehim.
“Iknow,”hewhispersopeninghiseyes.“Andallbecauseyoucan’tfollowa
simple,fuckingrequest.”Histoneisbitterandit’smyturntoblanch.“Idon’t
wanttodiscussthisnow,intheshower.Iamstillfuckingmadatyou,
Anastasia.You’remakingmequestionmyjudgment.”Heturnsandpromptly
leavestheshower,grabbingatowelonthewayandstalkingoutofthe
bathroom,leavingmebereftandchilledunderthehotwater.
Crap.Crap.Crap.
Thenthesignificanceofwhathe’sjustsaiddawnsonme.Kidnap?
Fuck.Jackwantedtokidnapme?Irecalltheducttapeandnotwantingto
thinktoodeeplyaboutwhyJackhadthat.DoesChristianhavemore
information?HurriedlyIwashmyself,thenshampooandrinsemyhair.I
wanttoknow.Ineedtoknow.Iamnotgoingtolethimkeepmeinthedark
aboutthis.
Christian’snotinthebedroomwhenIcomeout.Jeez,hedressesquickly.Ido
thesame,throwingonmyfavoriteplumdressandblacksandals,andI’m
consciousthatI’vechosenthisoutfitbecauseChristianlikesit.Ivigorously
towel-drymyhair,thenbraiditandwinditintoabun.Fittingdiamondstuds
intomyears,Idashtothebathroomtoapplyalittlemascara.Glancingat
myselfinthemirror—I’mpale.Jeez,I’malwayspale—Itakeadeep
steadyingbreath.Ineedtofacetheconsequencesofmyrashdecisionto
actuallyenjoymyselfwithmyfriend.Isigh,knowingthatChristianwon’tsee
itthatway.Christianisnowheretobeseeninthegreatroom.Mrs.Jonesis
busyingherselfinthekitchen.
“Goodmorning,Ana,”shesayssweetly.
“Morning,”Ismilebroadlyather.IamAnaagain!
“Tea?”
205|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Please.”
“Anythingtoeat?”
“Please.I’dlikeanomeletthismorning.”
“Withmushroomsandspinach?”
“Andcheese.”
“Comingup.”
“Where’sChristian?”
“Mr.Grey’sinhisstudy.”
“Hashehadbreakfast?”Iglanceatthetwoplacessetonthebreakfastbar.
“No,ma’am.”
“Thanks.”
Christianisonthephone,dressedinawhiteshirtwithnotie,lookinglike
everyparttherelaxedCEO.Howdeceptiveappearancescanbe.Perhapshe’s
notgoingintotheofficeafterall.HeglancesupwhenIappearinthedoorway
butshakeshisheadatme,indicatingthatIamnotwelcome.Shit…Iturnand
wanderdejectedlybacktothebreakfastbar.Taylorappears,snappilydressed
inasombersuit,lookinglikehe’shadeighthoursofuninterruptedsleep.
“Morning,Taylor,”Imurmur,tryingtogaugehismoodandseeifhe’lloffer
meanyvisualcuesaboutwhathasbeengoingon.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Grey,”hereplies,andIhearthesympathyinthosefour
words.Ismilecompassionatelybackathim,knowinghehadtoendurean
angry,frustratedChristianreturningtoSeattlewayaheadofschedule.
“Howwastheflight?”Idaretoask.
“Long,Mrs.Grey.”Hisbrevityspeaksvolumes.“MayIaskhowyouare?”he
adds,histonesoftening.
“I’mgood.”
Henods.“Ifyou’llexcuseme.”HeheadstowardChristian’sstudy.Hmm.
Taylor’sallowedin,butnotme.
“Hereyougo.”Mrs.Jonesplacesmybreakfastinfrontofme.Myappetite
hasvanished,butIeatanyway,notwishingtooffendher.BythetimeI’ve
finishedwhatIcanofmybreakfast,Christianhasstillnotemergedfromhis
study.Isheavoidingme?
“Thanks,Mrs.Jones,”Imurmur,slidingoffthebarstoolandmakingmyway
tothebathroomtocleanmyteeth.AsIbrushthem,206|Page
ELJAMES
I’mremindedofChristian’ssulkovertheweddingvows.Heholedupinhis
studythen,too.Isthatwhatthisis?Himsulking?IshudderasIrecallhis
subsequentnightmare.Willthathappenagain?Wereallyneedtotalk.Ineed
toknowaboutJack,andabouttheincreasedsecurityfortheGreys—allthe
detailsthathavebeenkeptfromme,butnotfromKate.ObviouslyElliottalks
toher.
Iglanceatmywatch.It’seightfifty—I’mlateforwork.Ifinishbrushingmy
teeth,applyalittlelipgloss,grabmylightweightblackjacketandheadback
tothegreatroom.IamrelievedtoseeChristianthere,eatinghisbreakfast.
“You’regoing?”hesayswhenheseesme.
“Towork?Yes,ofcourse.”Bravely,Iwalktowardhimandrestmyhandson
theedgeofthebreakfastbar.Hegazesatmeblankly.
“Christian,we’vehardlybeenbackaweek.Ihavetogotowork.”
“But—”Hestops,andrakeshishandthroughhishair.Mrs.Joneswalks
quietlyoutoftheroom.Discreet,Gail,discreet.
“Iknowwehaveagreatdealtotalkabout.Perhapsifyou’vecalmeddown,
wecandoitthisevening.”
Hismouthpopsopenwithdismay.“Calmeddown?”Hisvoiceiseerilysoft.
Iflush.“YouknowwhatImean.”
“No,Anastasia,Idon’tknowwhatyoumean.”
“Idon’twantafight.IwascomingtoaskyouifIcouldtakemycar.”
“No.Youcan’t,”hesnaps.
“Okay.”Iacquiesceimmediately.
Heblinks.Hewasobviouslyexpectingafight.“Prescottwillaccompany
you.”Histoneisslightlylessbelligerent.Dammit,notPrescott.Iwanttopout
andprotestbutdecideagainstit.SurelynowJackhasbeencaughtwecancut
backonoursecurity.Iremembermymom’s“wordsofwisdom”talktheday
beforemywedding.Ana,honey,youreallyhavetochooseyourbattles.It’ll
bethesamewithyourkidswhenyouhavethem.Well,atleasthe’slettingme
gotowork.
“Okay,”Imutter.AndbecauseIdon’twanttoleavehimlikethiswithso
muchunresolvedandsomuchtensionbetweenus,Isteptentativelytoward
him.Hestiffens,hiseyeswidening,andfora207|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
momenthelookssovulnerableitpullsatsomedeep,darkplaceinmyheart.
Oh,Christian,I’msosorry.Ikisshimchastelyonthesideofhismouth.He
closeshiseyesasifrelishingmytouch.
“Don’thateme,”Iwhisper.
Hegrabsmyhand.“Idon’thateyou.”.
“Youhaven’tkissedme,”Iwhisper.
Heeyesmesuspiciously.“Iknow,”hemutters.
I’mdesperatetoaskhimwhy,butI’mnotsureIwanttoknowtheanswer.
Abruptlyhestandsandgrabsmyfacebetweenhishands,andinaflashhis
lipsarehardonmine.Igaspwithsurprise,inadvertentlygrantinghistongue
access.Hetakesfulladvantage,invadingmymouth,claimingme…andjust
asI’mbeginningtorespondhereleasesme,hisbreathingquickening.
“TaylorwilltakeyouandPrescotttoSIP,”hesays,hiseyesflaringwithneed.
“Taylor!”hecalls.Iflush,tryingtorecoversomecomposure.
“Sir.”Taylorisstandinginthedoorway.
“TellPrescottMrs.Greyisgoingtowork.Canyoudrivethem,please?”
“Certainly.”Turningonhisheel,Taylordisappears.
“Ifyoucouldtrytostayoutoftroubletoday,Iwouldappreciateit,”
Christianmutters.
“I’llseewhatIcando.”Ismilesweetly.Areluctanthalfsmiletugsat
Christian’slips,buthedoesn’tgiveintoit.
“I’llseeyoulater,then,”hesayscoolly.
“Laters,”Iwhisper.
PrescottandItaketheserviceelevatordowntothebasementgarageinorder
toavoidthemediaoutside.Jack’sarrest,andthefacthewasapprehendedin
ourapartment,isnowpublicknowledge.AsIsettleintotheAudi,Iwonderif
therewillbemorepaparazziwaitingatSIP
likethedayourengagementwasannounced.
WedriveawhileinsilenceuntilIremembertocallfirstRayandthenmy
momtoreassurethemChristianandIaresafe.Mercifully,bothcallsareshort
andIhangupjustaswearriveoutsideSIP.AsIfeared,there’sasmallcrowd
ofreportersandphotographerslyinginwait.Theyturnasone,looking
expectantlyattheAudi.208|Page
ELJAMES
“Areyousureyouwanttodothis,Mrs.Grey?”Taylorasks.Partofmejust
wantstogohome,butthatmeansspendingthedaywithMr.BurningRage.
Hopefullywithalittletimehewillgainsomeperspective.Jackisinpolice
custody,soFiftyshouldbehappy,buthe’snot.Partofmeunderstandswhy;
toomuchofthisisoutofhiscontrolincludingme,butIdon’thavetimeto
thinkaboutthisnow.
“Takemearoundtothedeliveryentrance,please,Taylor.”
“Yes,ma’am.”
It’soneo’clockandI’vemanagedtoimmersemyselfinworkallmorning.
There’saknockandElizabethpopsherheadaroundthedoor.
“CanIhaveamoment?”sheasksbrightly.
“Sure,”Imutter,surprisedatherunscheduledvisit.Sheentersandsitsdown,
tossingherlongblackhairoverhershoulder.“Ijustwantedtocheckyou’re
okay.Roachaskedmetopayyouavisit,”sheaddshurriedlyasherface
reddens.“Imeanwithallthatwentonlastnight.”
JackHyde’sarrestisalloverthenewspapers,butnooneseemstohavemade
theconnectionyetwiththefireatGEH.
“I’mfine,”Ianswer,tryingnottothinktoodeeplyabouthowIfeel.Jack
wantedtoharmme.Well,that’snotnews.He’striedbefore.It’sChristianI’m
moreconcernedabout.
Iglancequicklyatmye-mail.There’sstillnothingfromhim.Idon’tknowif
Iweretosendhimane-mail,whetherI’djustbeprovokingMr.BurningRage
further.
“Good,”Elizabethanswers,andhersmileactuallytoucheshereyesfora
change.“Ifthere’sanythingIcando—anythingyouneed—letmeknow.”
“Willdo.”
Elizabethstands.“Iknowhowbusyyouare,Ana.I’llletyougetbacktoit”
“Um…thanks.”
ThathastohavebeenthebriefestmostpointlessmeetingintheWestern
Hemispheretoday.PerhapsRoachsentherinhere.Perhapshe’sworried,
givenI’mhisboss’swife.Ishakeoffthedarkthoughts209|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
andreachformyBlackBerryinthehopethattheremightbeamessagefrom
Christian.AsIdo,myworke-mailpings.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Statement
Date:August26,201113:04
To:AnastasiaGrey
Anastasia
DetectiveClarkwillbevisitingyourofficetodayat3pmtotakeyour
statement.
Ihaveinsistedthatheshouldcometoyou,asIdon’twantyougoingtothe
policestation.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Igazeathise-mailforafullfiveminutes,tryingtothinkofalightandwitty
responsetolifthismood.Idrawacompleteblank,andoptforbrevityinstead.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Statement
Date:August26,201113:12
To:ChristianGrey
Okay.
Ax
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
210|Page
ELJAMES
Istareatthescreenforanotherfiveminutes,anxiousforhisresponsebut
there’snothing.Christianisnotinthemoodtoplaytoday.Isitback.CanI
blamehim?MypoorFiftywasprobablyfrantic,backintheearlyhoursof
thismorning.Thenathoughtoccurstome.HewasinhistuxwhenIwoke
thismorning.WhattimedidhedecidetocomebackfromNewYork?He
normallyleavesfunctionsbetweentenandeleven.LastnightatthathourI
wasstillatlargewithKate.DidChristiancomehomebecauseIwasoutor
becauseoftheJackincident?IfheleftbecauseIwasouthavingagoodtime,
hewouldhavehadnoideaaboutJack,aboutthepolice,nothing—untilhe
landedinSeattle.It’ssuddenlyveryimportanttometofindout.IfChristian
camebackmerelybecauseIwasout,thenhewasoverreacting.My
subconscioussucksherteeth,wearingherharpyface.Okay,I’mgladhe’s
back,somaybeit’sirrelevant.Butstill—Christianmusthavehadonehellofa
shockwhenhelanded.Nowonderhe’ssoconfusedtoday.Hisearlierwords
comebacktome.“Iamstillfuckingmadatyou,Anastasia.You’remaking
mequestionmyjudgment.”
Ihavetoknow—didhecomebackbecauseofCocktailgateorbecauseofthe
fuckinglunatic?
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:YourFlight
Date:August26,201113:24
To:ChristianGrey
WhattimedidyoudecidetocomebacktoSeattleyesterday?
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Yourflight
Date:August26,201113:26
To:AnastasiaGrey
211|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Why?
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:YourFlight
Date:August26,201113:29
To:ChristianGrey
Callitcuriosity.
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Yourflight
Date:August26,201113:32
To:AnastasiaGrey
Curiositykilledthecat.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Huh?
Date:August26,201113:35
To:ChristianGrey
Whatisthatobliquereferenceto?Anotherthreat?
YouknowwhereIamgoingwiththis,don’tyou?
212|Page
ELJAMES
DidyoudecidetoreturnbecauseIwentoutforadrinkwithmyfriendafter
youaskedmenotto,ordidyoureturnbecauseamadmanwasinyour
apartment?
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
Istareatmyscreen.There’snoresponse.Iglanceattheclockonmy
computer.Oneforty-fiveandstillnoresponse.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Here’sthething…
Date:August26,201113:56
To:ChristianGrey
IwilltakeyoursilenceasanadmissionthatyoudidindeedreturntoSeattle
becauseICHANGEDMYMIND.Iamanadultfemaleandwentforadrink
withmyfriend.Ididnotunderstandthesecurityramificationsof
CHANGINGMYMINDbecauseYOUNEVERTELLMEANYTHING.I
foundoutfromKatethatsecurityhas,infact,beensteppedupforallthe
Greys,notjustus.Ithinkyougenerallyoverreactwheremysafetyis
concerned,andIunderstandwhy,butyou’reliketheboycryingwolf.Inever
haveaclueaboutwhatisarealconcernormerelysomethingthatisperceived
asaconcernbyyou.Ihadtwoofthesecuritydetailwithme.Ithoughtboth
KateandIwouldbesafe.Factis,weweresaferinthatbarthanatthe
apartment.HadIbeenFULLYINFORMEDofthesituation,Iwouldhave
takenadifferentcourseofaction.
Iunderstandyourconcernsaresomethingtodowithmaterialthatwason
Jack’scomputerhere—orsoKatebelieves.Doyouknowhowannoyingitis
tofindoutmybestfriendknowsmoreaboutwhat’sgoingonwithyouthanI
do?AndIamyourWIFE.Soareyougoingtotellme?Orwillyoucontinue
totreatmelikeachild,guaranteeingthatIcontinuetobehavelikeone?
213|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Youarenottheonlyonewhoisfuckingpissed.Okay?
Ana
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
Ihitsend.There—stickthatinyourpipeandsmokeit,Grey.Itakeadeep
breath.Ihaveworkedmyselfupintoquitearage.HerewasIfeelingsorry
andguiltyforbehavingbadly.Well,nolonger.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Here’sthething…
Date:August26,201113:59
To:AnastasiaGrey
Asever,Mrs.Grey,youareforthrightandchallengingine-mail.Perhapswe
candiscussthiswhenyougethometoOUR
apartment.
Youshouldwatchyourlanguage.Iamstillfuckingpissed,too.Christian
Grey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Watchmylanguage!Iscowlatmycomputer,realizingthisisgettingme
nowhere.Idon’trespond,butpickupamanuscriptrecentlyreceivedfroma
promisingnewauthorandbegintoread.
MymeetingwithDetectiveClarkisuneventful.Heislessgrowlythanthe
nightbefore,maybebecausehe’smanagedsomesleep.Ormaybehejust
prefersworkingduringtheday.
“Thankyouforyourstatement,Mrs.Grey.”
“You’rewelcome,detective.IsHydeinpolicecustodyyet?”
214|Page
ELJAMES
“Yesma’am.Hewasreleasedfromhospitalearlierthismorning.Withwhat
he’schargedwith,heshouldbewithusforawhile.”Hesmiles,hisdarkeyes
crinklinginthecorner.
“Good.Thishasbeenananxioustimeformyhusbandandme.”
“IspokeatlengthwithMr.Greythismorning.He’sveryrelieved.Interesting
man,yourhusband.”
Youhavenoidea.
“Yes,Ithinkso.”Iofferhimapolitesmile,andheknowshe’sbeing
dismissed.
“Ifyouthinkofanything,youcancallme.Here’smycard.”
Hewrestlesacardoutofhiswalletandhandsittome.
“Thankyou,detective.I’lldothat.”
“Gooddaytoyou,Mrs.Grey.”
“Goodday.”
AsheleavesIwonderexactlywhatHydehasbeenchargedwith.Nodoubt
Christianwon’ttellme.Ipursemylips.
WerideinsilencetoEscala.Sawyerisdrivingthistime,Prescottathisside,
andmyheartgrowsheavierandheavierasweheadback.IknowChristian
andIaregoingtohaveanalmightyfight,andIdon’tknowifIhavethe
energy.
AsIrideintheelevatorfromthegaragewithPrescottbesideme,Itryto
marshalmythoughts.WhatdoIwanttosay?IthinkIsaiditallinmye-mail.
Perhapshe’llgivemesomeanswers.Ihopeso.Ican’thelpmynerves.My
heartispounding,mymouthisdry,andmypalmsaresweaty.Idon’twantto
fight.Butsometimeshe’ssodifficult,andIneedtostandmyground.
Theelevatordoorsslideopen,revealingthefoyer,andit’soncemoreneatand
tidy.Thetableisuprightandanewvaseisinplacewithagorgeousarrayof
palepinkandwhitepeonies.Iquicklycheckthepaintingsaswewander
through—theMadonnasalllooktobeintact.Thebrokenfoyerdoorisfixed
andoperationaloncemore,andPrescottkindlyopensitforme.She’sbeenso
quiettoday.IthinkIpreferherthisway.
Idropmybriefcaseinthehallandheadintothegreatroom.Istop.Holyfuck.
215|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Goodevening,Mrs.Grey,”Christiansayssoftly.He’sstandingbythepiano,
dressedinatightblackT-shirt,andjeans…thosejeans—
theonesheworeintheplayroom.Ohmy.Theyareoverwashedpaleblue
denim,snug,rippedatthekneeandhot.Hesauntersovertome,hisfeetbare,
thetopbuttonofthejeansundone,hissmolderingeyesneverleavingmine.
“Goodtohaveyouhome.I’vebeenwaitingforyou.”
216|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterEleven
“Haveyounow?”Iwhisper.Mymouthgoesdrierstill,myheartpoundingin
mychest.Why’shedressedlikethis?Whatdoesitmean?
Ishestillsulking?
“Ihave.”Hisvoiceiskittensoft,buthe’ssmirkingashestrollsclosertome.
Holycraphelookshot—hisjeanshanging,thatway,fromhiships.Ohno,
I’mnotgoingtobedistractedbyMr.Sex-on-legs.Itrytogaugehismoodas
hestalkstowardme.Angry?Playful?Lustful?Gah!It’simpossibletotell.
“Ilikeyourjeans,”Imurmur.Hegrinsadisarmingwolfishgrinthatdoesn’t
reachhiseyes.Shit—he’sstillmad.He’swearingthesetodistractme…He
haltsinfrontofme,andI’msearedbyhisintensity.Hegazesdown,wide
unreadableeyesburningintomine.Iswallow.
“Iunderstandyouhaveissues,Mrs.Grey,”hesayssilkily,andhepulls
somethingfromthebackpocketofhisjeans.Ican’ttearmygazefromhisbut
hearhimunfoldapieceofpaper.Heholdsitup,andglancingbrieflyinits
direction,Irecognizemye-mail.Mygazereturnstohis,ashiseyesblaze
brightwithanger.
“Yes,Ihaveissues,”Iwhisper,feelingbreathless.Ineeddistanceifwe’re
goingtodiscussthis.ButbeforeIcanstepback,heleansdownandrunshis
nosealongmine.MyeyesfluttertoacloseasIwelcomehisunexpected,
gentletouch.
“SodoI,”hewhispersagainstmyskin,andIopenmyeyesathiswords.He
straightensandgazesintentlyatmeoncemore.
“IthinkI’mfamiliarwithyourissues,Christian.”Myvoiceiswry,andhe
narrowshiseyes,suppressingtheamusementthatsparkstheremomentarily.
Arewegoingtofight?Itakeaprecautionarystepback.Imustphysically
distancemyselffromhim—fromhissmell,hislook,hisdistractingbodyin
thosehotjeans.HefrownsasImoveaway.
“WhydidyouflybackfromNewYork?”Iwhisper.Let’sgetthisoverand
donewith.
217|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Youknowwhy.”Histonecarriesawarningring.
“BecauseIwentoutwithKate?”
“Becauseyouwentbackonyourwordandyoudefiedme—puttingyourself
atunnecessaryrisk.”
“Wentbackonmyword?Isthathowyouseeit?”Igasp,ignoringtherestof
hissentence.
“Yes.”
Holycrap.Talkaboutoverreaction!Istarttorollmyeyesbutstopwhenhe
scowlsatme.“Christian,Ichangedmymind,”Iexplainslowly,patientlyasif
he’sachild.“I’mawoman.We’rerenownedforit.That’swhatwedo.”
Heblinksatmeasifhedoesn’tcomprehendthis.
“IfIhadthoughtforoneminutethatyouwouldcancelyourbusinesstrip…”
Wordsfailme.IrealizeIdon’tknowwhattosay.Iammomentarily
catapultedbacktotheargumentoverourvows.Ineverpromisedtoobeyyou,
Christian.ButIholdmytongue,becausedeepdownI’mgladhecameback.
Inspiteofhisfury,I’mgladhe’shereinonepiece,angryandsmolderingin
frontofme.
“Youchangedyourmind?”Hecan’thidehiscontemptuousdisbelief.
“Yes.”
“Andyoudidn’tthinktocallme?”Heglaresatme,incredulous,before
continuing.“What’smore,youleftthesecuritydetailshorthereandputRyan
atrisk.”
Oh.Ihadn’tthoughtaboutthat.
“Ishouldhavecalled,butIdidn’twanttoworryyou.IfIhad,I’msureyou
wouldhaveforbiddenmetogoandI’vemissedKate.Iwantedtoseeher.
Besides,itkeptmeoutofthewaywhenJackwashere.Ryanshouldn’thave
lethimin.”Thisissoconfusing.IfRyanhadn’t,Jackwouldstillbeatlarge.
Christian’seyesgleamwildly,thenshut,hisfacetighteningasifinpain.Oh
no.What’shegoingtodo?Heshakeshishead,andbeforeIknowithehas
foldedmeinhisarms,pullingmehardagainsthim.
“OhAna,”hewhispersashetightenshisholdonmesothatIcanbarely
breathe.“Ifsomethingweretohappentoyou—”Hisvoiceisbarelya
whisper.
“Itdidn’t,”Imanagetosay.
218|Page
ELJAMES
“Butitcouldhave.I’vediedathousanddeathstodaythinkingaboutwhat
mighthavehappened.Iwassomad,Ana.Madatyou.Madatmyself.Madat
everyone.Ican’trememberbeingthisangry…except—”Hestopsagain.
Oh?
“Except?”Iprompt.
“Onceinyouroldapartment.WhenLeilawasthere.”
Oh.Then.Idon’twanttothinkaboutthat.
“Youweresocoldthismorning,”Imurmur.Myvoicecracksonthelastword
asIrememberthehideousfeelingofrejectionintheshower.Hishandsmove
tothenapeofmyneck,looseningtheirgriponme,andItakeadeepbreath.
Hepullsmyheadback.
“Idon’tknowhowtodealwiththisanger.Idon’tthinkIwanttohurtyou,”
hesays,hiseyeswideandwary.“Thismorning,Iwantedtopunishyou,
badlyand—”Hestops,lostforwordsIthink,ortooafraidtosaythem.
“Youwereworriedyou’dhurtme?”Ifinishhissentenceforhim,not
believingthathe’dhurtmeforaminute,butrelieved,too.Asmallvicious
partofmefeareditwasbecausehedidn’twantmeanymore.
“Ididn’ttrustmyself,”hesaysquietly.
“Christian,Iknowyou’dneverhurtme.Notphysically,anyway.”Iclasphis
headbetweenmyhands.
“Doyou?”heasks,andthere’sskepticisminhisvoice.
“Yes.Iknewwhatyousaidwasanempty,idlethreat.Iknowyou’renot
goingtobeattheshitoutofme.”
“Iwantedto.”
“Noyoudidn’t.Youjustthoughtyoudid.”
“Idon’tknowifthat’strue,”hemurmurs.
“Thinkaboutit,”Iurge,wrappingmyarmsaroundhimoncemoreand
nuzzlinghischestthroughtheblackT-shirt.“AbouthowyoufeltwhenIleft.
You’vetoldmeoftenenoughwhatthatdidtoyou.Howitalteredyourview
oftheworld,ofme.Iknowwhatyou’vegivenupforme.Thinkabouthow
youfeltaboutthecuffmarksonourhoneymoon.”
Hestills,andIknowhe’sprocessingthisinformation.Itightenmyarms
aroundhim,myhandsonhisback,feelinghistauttonedmuscles219|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
beneathhisT-shirt.Gradually,herelaxesasthetensionslowlyebbsaway.
Isthiswhat’sbeenworryinghim?Thathe’llhurtme?WhydoIhavemore
faithinhimthanhehasinhimself?Idon’tunderstand,surelywe’vemoved
on.He’snormallysostrong,soincontrol,butwithoutthat,he’slost.OhFifty,
Fifty,Fifty—I’msorry.Hekissesmyhair,andIturnmyfaceuptohis,andhis
lipsfindmine,searching,taking,giving,begging—forwhat,Idon’tknow.I
justwanttofeelhismouthonmine,andIreturnhiskisspassionately.
“Youhavesuchfaithinme,”hewhispersafterhebreaksaway.
“Ido.”Hestrokesmyfacewiththebackofhisknucklesandthetipofhis
thumb,gazingintentlyintomyeyes.Hisangerhasgone.MyFiftyisback
fromwhereverhe’sbeen.It’sgoodtoseehim.Iglanceshylyupandsmirk.
“Besides,”Iwhisper,“youdon’thavethepaperwork.”
Hismouthdropsopeninamusedshock,andheclutchesmetohischestagain.
“You’reright.Idon’t,”helaughs.
Westandinthemiddleofthegreatroom,lockedinourembrace,justholding
eachother.
“Cometobed,”hewhispers,afterheavenknowshowlong.Ohmy…
“Christian,weneedtotalk.”
“Later,”heurgessoftly.
“Christian,please.Talktome.”
Hesighs.“Aboutwhat?”
“Youknow.Youkeepmeinthedark.”
“Iwanttoprotectyou.”
“I’mnotachild.”
“Iamfullyawareofthat,Mrs.Grey.”Herunshishandsdownmybodyand
cupsmybackside.Flexinghishipshepresseshisgrowingerectionintome.
“Christian!”Iscold.“Talktome.”
Hesighsoncemorewithexasperation.“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”His
voiceisresignedashereleasesme.Ibaulk—Ididn’tmeanyouhadtoletme
go.Takingmyhand,hereachesdowntopickupmye-mailfromthefloor.
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“Lotsofthings,”Imutter,asIlethimleadmetothecouch.
“Sit,”heorders.Somethingsneverchange,Imuse,doingasI’mtold.
Christiansitsbesideme,andleaningforward,putshisheadinhishands.
Ohno.Isthistoohardforhim?Thenhesitsup,rakesbothhandsthroughhis
hair,andturnstome,atonceexpectantandreconciledtohisfate.
“Askme,”hesayssimply.
Oh.Well,thatwaseasierthanIthought.“Whytheadditionalsecurityforyour
family?”
“Hydewasathreattothem.”
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Fromhiscomputer.Itheldpersonaldetailsaboutmeandtherestofmy
family.EspeciallyCarrick.”
“Carrick?Whyhim?”
“Idon’tknowyet.Let’sgotobed.”
“Christian,tellme!”
“Tellyouwhat?”
“Youareso…exasperating.”
“Soareyou.”Heglaresatme.
“Youdidn’trampupthesecuritywhenyoufirstfoundouttherewas
informationaboutyourfamilyonthecomputer.Sowhathappened?
Whynow?”
Christiannarrowshiseyesatme.
“Ididn’tknowhewasgoingtoattempttoburndownmybuilding,or—”He
stops.“Wethoughtitwasanunwelcomeobsession,butyouknow”—he
shrugs—“whenyou’reinthepubliceye,peopleareinterested.Itwasrandom
stuff:newsreportsonmefromwhenIwasatHarvard—myrowing,my
career.ReportsonCarrick—followinghiscareer,followingmymom’scareer
—andtosomeextent,ElliotandMia.
Howstrange.
“Yousaidor,”Iprompt.
“Orwhat?”
“Yousaid,‘attempttoburndownmybuilding,or…’likeyouweregoingto
saysomethingelse.”
“Areyouhungry?”
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FiftyShadesFreed
What?Ifrownathim,andmystomachrumbles.
“Didyoueattoday?”Hisvoiceissternerandhiseyesfrost.I’mbetrayedby
myflush.
“AsIthought.”Hisvoiceisclipped.“YouknowhowIfeelaboutyounot
eating.Come,”hesays.Hestandsandholdsouthishand.“Letmefeedyou.”
Andheshiftsagain…thistimehisvoicefullofsensualpromise.
“Feedme?”Iwhisperaseverythingsouthofmynavelliquefies.Hell.Thisis
suchatypicallymercurialdiversionfromwhatwe’vebeendiscussing.Isthat
it?IsthatallI’mgettingoutofhimfornow?
Leadingmeovertothekitchen,Christiangrabsabarstoolandheftsitaround
totheothersideoftheisland.
“Sit,”hesays.
“Where’sMrs.Jones?”Iask,noticingherabsenceforthefirsttimeasIperch
onthestool.
“I’vegivenherandTaylorthenightoff.”
Oh.
“Why?”
Hegazesatmeforabeat,andhisarrogantamusementisback.
“BecauseIcan.”
“Soyou’regoingtocook?”Igivehimanincreduloussmirk.
“Oh,yeoflittlefaith,Mrs.Grey.Closeyoureyes.”
Iblinkathim,marveling.Ithoughtweweregoingtohaveafull-onfight,and
hereweare,playinginthekitchen.
“Closethem,”heorders.
Irollthemfirst,thenoblige.
“Hmm.Notgoodenough,”hemutters.Iopenoneeyeandseehimtakea
plum-coloredsilkscarfoutofthebackpocketofhisjeans.Itmatchesmy
dress.Holycow.Ilookquizzicallyathim.Whendidhegetthat?
“Close,”heordersagain.“Nopeeking.”
“You’regoingtoblindfoldme?”Imutter,shocked.AllofasuddenI’m
breathless.
“Yes.”
“Christian—”Heplacesafingeruponmylips,silencingme.Iwanttotalk.
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“We’lltalklater.Iwantyoutoeatnow.Yousaidyouwerehungry.”Leaning
over,helightlykissesmylips.Thesilkofthescarfissoftagainstmyeyelids
ashetiesitsecurelyatthebackofmyhead.
“Canyousee?”heasks.
“No,”Imutter,figurativelyrollingmyeyes.Hechucklessoftly.
“Icantellwhenyou’rerollingyoureyes,youknow…andyouknowhow
thatmakesmefeel.”
Ipursemylips.“Canwejustgetthisoveranddonewith?”Isnap.
“Suchimpatience,Mrs.Grey.Soeagertotalk.”Histoneisplayful.
“Yes!”
“Imustfeedyoufirst,”hesaysandbrusheshislipsovermytemple,calming
meinstantly.
Okay…haveityourway.Iresignmyselftomyfateandlistentohis
movementsaroundthekitchen.ThefridgedooropensandChristianplaces
variousdishesonthecountertopbehindme.Hepadsovertothemicrowave,
popssomethingin,andturnsiton.Mycuriosityispiqued.Ihearthetoaster
leverdrop,theturnofthecontrol,andthequiettickofthetimer.Hmm—
toast?
“Yes.Iameagertotalk,”Imurmur,distracted.Anassortmentofexotic,spicy
aromasfillsthekitchen.Whatishedoing?Ishiftinmychair.
“Bestill,Anastasia,”hemurmurs,andhe’sclosetomeagain.“Iwantyouto
behave…,”hewhispers.
Ohmy.Myinnergoddessfreezes,notevenblinking.
“Anddon’tbiteyourlip.”Gentlyhetugsmybottomlipfreeofmyteeth,and
Ican’thelpmysmile.
Next,Ihearthesoftpopofacorkbeingdrawnfromabottleandthegentle
glugofwinebeingpouredintoaglass.HeleansacrossbehindmeandIhear
asoftclickandthequietwhitenoiseofthesurroundsoundspeakershissingto
life.AloudtwangofaguitarbeginsasongIdon’tknow.Christianturnsthe
volumedowntobackgroundlevel.Amanstartstosing,hisvoicedeep,low,
andsexy.
“Adrinkfirst,Ithink,”Christianwhispers,divertingmefromthesong.“Head
back.”Itipmyheadback.“Further,”heprompts.Ioblige,andhislipsareon
mine.Coolcrispwineflowsintomymouth.Iswallowreflexively.Ohmy,
andmemoriesfloodbackofnotsolongago—metrusseduponmybedin
VancouverbeforeI223|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
graduated,withahot,angryChristiannotappreciatingmye-mail.Hmm…
havetimeschanged?Notmuch.ExceptnowIrecognizethewine,Christian’s
favorite—aSancerre.
“Hmm,”Imurmurinappreciation.
“Youlikethewine?”hewhispershisbreathwarmonmycheek.I’mbathedin
hisproximity,hisvitality,theheatradiatingfromhisbody,eventhoughhe
doesn’ttouchme.
“Yes,”Ibreathe.
“More?”
“Ialwayswantmore,withyou.”
Ialmosthearhisgrin.Itmakesmegrin,too.“Mrs.Grey,areyouflirtingwith
me?”
“Yes.”
Hisweddingringclinksagainsttheglassashetakesanothersipofwine.Now
thatisasexysound.Thistimehepullsmyheadrightback,cradlingme.He
kissesmeoncemore,andgreedilyIswallowthewinehegivesme.Hesmiles
ashekissesmeagain.
“Hungry?”
“Ithinkwe’vealreadyestablishedthat,Mr.Grey.”
ThetroubadourontheiPodissingingaboutwickedgames.Hmm…howapt.
Themicrowavepings,andChristianreleasesme.Isitupright.Thefood
smellsspicy:garlic,mint,oregano,rosemary,andlamb,Ithink.Whatishe
cooking?Thedoortothemicrowaveopens,andtheappetizingsmellgrows
stronger.
“Shit!Christ!”Christiancurses,andadishclattersontothecountertop.
Ohno.
“Youokay?”
“Yes!”hesnaps,hisvoicetight.Amomentlaterhe’sstandingbesidemeonce
more.
“Ijustburntmyself.Here.”Heeaseshisindexfingerintomymouth.“Maybe
youcouldsuckitbetter.”
“Oh.”Claspinghishand,Idrawhisfingerslowlyfrommymouth.
“There,there,”Isoothe,andleaningforwardIblow,coolinghisfinger,then
kissitgentlytwice.Hestopsbreathing.Ireinsertitintomymouthandsuck
gently.Heinhalessharply,andthesoundtravelsstraightto224|Page
ELJAMES
mygroin.Hetastesasdeliciousasever,andIrealizethatthisishisgame—
theslowseductionofhiswife.Ithoughthewasmad,andnow…?Thisman,
myhusband,issoconfusing.ButrightnowthisishowIlikehim.Playful.
Fun.Sexyashell.He’sgivenmesomeanswers,butI’mgreedy.Iwantmore,
butIwanttoplay,too.Aftertheanxietyandtensionoftoday,andthe
nightmareoflastnightwithJack,thisisawelcomediversion.
“Whatareyouthinking?”Christianmurmurs,stoppingmythoughtsintheir
tracksashepullshisfingeroutofmymouth.
“Howmercurialyouare.”
Hestillsbesideme.“FiftyShades,baby,”hesayseventually,andplantsa
tenderkissatthecornerofmymouth.
“MyFiftyShades,”Iwhisper.GrabbinghisT-shirt,Ipullhimbacktome.
“Ohnoyoudon’t,Mrs.Grey.Notouching…notyet.”Hetakesmyhand,
priesitoffhisT-shirt,andkisseseachfingerinturn.
“Situp,”hecommands.
Ipout.
“Iwillspankyouifyoupout.Nowopenwide.”
Ohshit.Iopenmymouth,andhepopsinaforkfulofspicyhotlamb,covered
inacool,minty,yogurtsauce.Mmm.Ichew.
“Youlike?”
“Yes.”
Hemakesanappreciativenoise,andIknowhe’seatingandenjoying,too.
“More?”
Inod.HegivesmeanotherforkfulandIchewitenthusiastically.Heputsthe
forkdownandhetears…bread,Ithink.
“Open,”heorders.
Thistimeit’spitabreadandhummus.IrealizeMrs.Jones—ormaybeeven
Christian—hasbeenshoppingatthedelicatessenIdiscoveredaboutfive
weeksagoonlytwoblocksfromEscala.Ichewgratefully.Christianina
playfulmoodincreasesmyappetite.
“More?”heasks.
Inod.“Moreofeverything.Please.I’mstarving.”
Ihearhisdelightedgrin.Slowlyandpatientlyhefeedsme,occasionally
kissingamorseloffoodfromthecornerofmymouthor225|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
wipingitoffwithhisfingers.Intermittently,heoffersmeasipofwineinhis
uniqueway.
“Openwide,thenbite,”hemurmurs.Ifollowhiscommand.Hmm—oneof
myfavorites,stuffedvineleaves.Evencoldtheyaredelicious,thoughIprefer
themheatedup,butIdon’twanttoriskChristianburninghimselfagain.He
feedsittomeslowly,andwhenI’vefinishedIlickhisfingersclean.
“More?”heasks,hisvoicelowandhusky.
Ishakemyhead.I’mfull.
“Good,”hewhispersagainstmyear,”becauseit’stimeformyfavorite
course.You.”
What?Hescoopsmeupinhisarms,surprisingmesomuchIsqueal.
“CanItaketheblindfoldoff?”
“No.”
Ialmostpout,thenrememberhisthreatandthinkbetterofit.
“Playroom,”hemurmurs.
Oh—Idon’tknowifthat’sagoodidea.
“Youupforthechallenge?”heasks.Andbecausehe’susedtheword
challenge,Ican’tsayno.
“Bringiton,”Imurmur,desireandsomethingthatIdon’twanttoname
thrummingthroughmybody.Hecarriesmethroughthedoor,thenupthe
stairstothesecondfloor.
“Ithinkyou’velostweight,”hemuttersdisapprovingly.Ihave?
Good.Irememberhiscommentwhenwearrivedbackfromourhoneymoon,
andhowmuchitsmarted.Jeez—wasthatjustaweekago?
Outsidetheplayroom,heslidesmedownhisbodyandsetsmeonmyfeet,
butkeepshisarmwrappedaroundmywaist.Brisklyheunlocksthedoor.
Italwayssmellsthesame:polishedwoodandcitrus.It’sactuallybecomea
comfortingsmell.Releasingme,ChristianturnsmearounduntilI’mfacing
awayfromhim.Heundoesthescarf,andIblinkinthesoftlight.Gently,he
pullsthehairpinsfrommyupdo,andmybraidfallsfree.Hegraspsitandtugs
gentlysoIhavetostepbackagainsthim.
“Ihaveaplan,”hewhispersinmyear,sendingdeliciousshiversdownmy
spine.
226|Page
ELJAMES
“Ithoughtyoumight,”Ianswer.Hekissesmebeneathmyear.
“Oh,Mrs.Grey,Ido.”Histoneissoft,mesmerizing.Hetugsmybraidtothe
sideandplantsatrailofsoftkissesdownmythroat.
“Firstwehavetogetyounaked.”Hisvoicehumslowinhisthroatand
resonatesthroughmybody.Iwantthis—whateverhehasplanned.Iwantto
connectthewayweknowhow.Heturnsmearoundtofacehim.Iglance
downathisjeans,thetopbuttonstillundone,andIcan’thelpmyself.
Reachingout,Ibrushmyindexfingeraroundthewaistband,feelingthehairs
ofhishappytrailticklemyknuckle.Heinhalessharply,andIlookuptomeet
hiseyes.Istopattheunfastenedbutton.Hiseyesdarkentoadeepergray…
ohmy.
“Youshouldkeeptheseon,”Iwhisper.
“Ifullyintendto,Anastasia.”
Andhemoves,grabbingmewithonehandtothebackofmyneckandthe
otheraroundmybackside.Hepullsmeagainsthim,thenhismouthison
mineandhe’skissingmelikehislifedependsonit.Whoa!
Hewalksmebackward,ourtonguesentwined,untilIfeelthewoodencross
behindme.Heleansintome,thecontoursofhisbodypressingintomine.
“Let’sgetridofthisdress,”hesays,peelingmydressupmythighs,myhips,
mybelly…deliciouslyslowly,thematerialskimmingovermyskin,
skimmingovermybreasts.
“Leanforward,”hesays.
Icomply,andhepullsmydressovermyheadanddiscardsitonthefloor,
leavingmeinmysandals,panties,andbra.Hiseyesblazeashegraspsboth
myhandsandraisesthemovermyhead.Heblinksonceandtiltshisheadto
oneside,andIknowhe’saskingformypermission.Whatishegoingtodoto
me?Iswallow,thennod,andatraceofanadmiring—almostproud—smile
toucheshislips.Heclipsmywristsintotheleathercuffsonthebaraboveand
producesthescarfoncemore.
“Thinkyou’veseenenough,”hemurmurs.Hewrapsitaroundmyhead,
blindfoldingmeagain,andIfeelafrissonrunthroughmeasallmyother
sensesheighten;thesoundofhissoftbreathing,myownexcitedresponse,the
bloodpulsinginmyears,Christian’sscentmixed227|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
withthecitrusandpolishintheroom—allareboughtintosharperfocus
becauseIcan’tsee.Hisnosetouchesmine.
“I’mgoingtodriveyouwild,”hewhispers.Hishandsgraspmyhips,andhe
movesdown,removingmypantiesashishandsglidedownmylegs.Drive
mewild…wow.
“Liftyourfeet,oneatatime.”Iobligeandheremovesfirstmypanties,then
eachsandalinturn.Gentlygraspingmyankle,hetugsmyleggentlytothe
right.
“Step,”hesays.Hecuffsmyrightankletothecrossthenproceedstodothe
samewithmyleft.Iamhelpless,spread-eagledonthecross.Standing,
Christianstepstowardme,andmybodyisbathedinhiswarmthoncemore
thoughhedoesn’ttouchme.Afteramomenthegraspsmychin,tiltsmyhead
up,andkissesmechastely.
“Somemusicandtoys,Ithink.Youlookbeautifullikethis,Mrs.Grey.Imay
takeamomenttoadmiretheview.”Hisvoiceissoft.Everythingclenches,
deepinside.
Afteramoment,maybetwo,Ihearhimpadquietlytothemuseumchestand
openoneofthedrawers.Thebuttdrawer?Ihavenoidea.Hetakessomething
outandplacesitonthetop,followedbysomethingelse.What?Thespeakers
springtolife,andafteramomentthestrainsofasinglepianoplayingasoft,
liltingmelodyfilltheroom.It’sfamiliar—Bach,Ithink—butIdon’tknow
whatpieceitis.Somethingaboutthemusicmakesmeapprehensive.Perhaps
becausethemusicistoocool,toodetached.Ifrown,tryingtograspwhyit
unsettlesme,butChristiangraspsmychin,startlingme,andtugsgentlyso
thatIreleasemybottomlip.Ismile,tryingtoreassuremyself.Whydofeel
uneasy?
Isitthemusic?
Christianrunshishandfrommychin,alongmythroat,anddownmychestto
mybreast.Usinghisthumbhepullsonthecup,freeingmybreastfromthe
restraintofmybra.Hemakesalow,appreciativehummingnoiseinhisthroat
andkissesmyneck.Hislipsfollowthepathofhisfingerstomybreast,
kissingandsuckingalltheway.Hisfingersmovetomyleftbreast,releasing
itfrommybra.Imoanasheskateshisthumbacrossmyleftnipple,andhis
lipsclosearoundmyright,tuggingandteasinggentlyuntilbothnipplesare
longandhard.
“Ah.”
228|Page
ELJAMES
Hedoesn’tstop.Slowly,withexquisitecare,heincreasestheintensityon
each.Ipullfruitlesslyagainstmyrestraintsassharppleasurespikesfrommy
nipplestomygroin.ItrytosquirmbutIcanhardlymove,anditmakesthe
tortureallthemoreexquisite.
“Christian,”Iplead.
“Iknow,”hemurmurshisvoicehoarse.“Thisiswhatyoumakemefeel.”
What?Igroan,andhebeginsagain,subjectingmynipplestohissweet
agonizingtouchoverandover—takingmecloser.
“Please,”Imewl.
Hemakesalowprimalsoundinhisthroat,thenstands,leavingmebereft,
breathless,andsquirmingagainstmyrestraints.Herunshishandsdownmy
sides,onepausingonmyhipwhiletheothertravelsdownmybelly.
“Let’sseehowyou’redoing,”hecroonssoftly.Gently,hecupsmysex,
brushinghisthumbacrossmyclitorisandmakingmecryout.Slowly,he
insertsone,thentwofingersinsideme.Igroanandthrustmyhipsforward,
eagertomeethisfingersandthepalmofhishand.
“Oh,Anastasia,you’resoready,”hesays.
Hecircleshisfingersinsideme,aroundandaround,whilehisthumbstrokes
myclitoris,backandforth,oncemore.It’stheonlypointonmybodywhere
he’stouchingme,andallthetension,alltheanxietyoftheday,is
concentratedonthisonepartofmyanatomy.Holyshit…it’sintense…and
strange…themusic…Ibegintobuild…Christianshifts,hishandstill
movingagainstandinme,andIhearalowbuzzingnoise.
“What?”Igasp.
“Hush,”hesoothes,andhislipsareonmine,effectivelysilencingme.I
welcomethewarmer,moreintimatecontact,kissinghimvoraciously.He
breaksthecontactandthebuzzingnoisegetsnearer.
“Thisisawand,baby.Itvibrates.”
Heholdsitagainstmychest,anditfeelslikealargeball-likeobjectvibrating
againstme.Ishiverasitmovesacrossmyskin,downbetweenmybreasts,
acrosstofirstone,thentheothernipple,andI’mawashwithsensation,
tinglingeverywhere,synapsesfiringasdark,darkneedpoolsatthebaseof
mybelly.
229|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Ah,”Igroan,whileChristian’sfingerscontinuetomoveinsideme.I’m
close…allthisstimulation…Tiltingmyheadback,Imoanloudlyand
Christianstillshisfingers.Allsensationstops.
“No!Christian,”Iplead,tryingtothrustmyhipsforwardforsomefriction.
“Still,baby,”hesayswhilemyimpendingorgasmmeltsaway.Heleans
forwardoncemoreandkissesme.
“Frustrating,isn’tit?”hemurmurs.
Ohno!SuddenlyIunderstandhisgame.
“Christian,please.”
“Hush,”hesaysandkissesme.Andhestartstomoveagain—wand,fingers,
thumb—alethalcombinationofsensualtorture.Heshiftssohisbodybrushes
againstmine.He’sstilldressed,andthesoftdenimofhisjeansbrushes
againstmyleg,hiserectionatmyhip.Sotantalizinglyclose.Hebringsmeto
thebrinkagain,mybodysingingwithneed,andstops.
“No,”Imewlloudly.
Heplantssoftwetkissesonmyshoulderashewithdrawshisfingersfrom
me,andmovesthewanddown.Itoscillatesovermystomach,mybelly,onto
mysex,againstmyclitoris.Fuck,it’sintense.
“Ah!”Icryout,pullinghardontherestraints.
MybodyissosensitizedIfeelIamgoingtoexplode,andjustasIam,
Christianstopsagain.
“Christian!”Icryout.
“Frustrating,yes?”hemurmursagainstmythroat.“Justlikeyou.Promising
onethingandthen…”Hisvoicetrailsoff.
“Christian,please!”Ibeg.
Hepushesthewandagainstmeagainandagain,stoppingjustatthevital
momenteachtime.Ah!
“EachtimeIstop,itfeelsmoreintensewhenIstartagain.Right?”
“Please,”Iwhimper.Mynerveendingsarescreamingforrelease.The
buzzingstopsandChristiankissesme.Herunshisnosedownmine.“Youare
themostfrustratingwomanIhaveevermet.”
No,No,No.
“Christian,Ineverpromisedtoobeyyou.Please,please—”
Hemovesinfrontofme,grabsmybehindandpusheshishipsagainstme,
makingmegasp—hisgroinrubbingintomine,thebuttons230|Page
ELJAMES
ofhisjeanspressingintome,barelycontaininghiserection.Withonehandhe
pullsofftheblindfoldandgraspsmychin,andIblinkupintohisscorching
eyes.
“Youdrivemecrazy,”hewhispers,flexinghishipsagainstmeonce,twice,
threetimesmore,causingmybodytospark—readytoburn.Andagainhe
deniesme.Iwanthimsobadly.Ineedhimsobadly.Iclosemyeyesand
mutteraprayer.Ican’thelpbutfeelI’mbeingpunished.I’mhelplessandhe’s
ruthless.Tearsspringtomyeyes.Idon’tknowhowfarhe’sgoingtotakethis.
“Please,”Iwhisperoncemore.
Buthegazesdownatme,implacable.He’sjustgoingtocontinue.Forhow
long?CanIplaythisgame?No.No.No—Ican’tdothis.Iknowhe’snot
goingtostop.He’sgoingtocontinuetotortureme.Hishandtravelsdownmy
bodyoncemore.No…Andthedambursts—alltheapprehension,the
anxiety,andthefearfromthelastcoupleofdaysoverwhelmingmeanewas
tearsspringtomyeyes.Iturnawayfromhim.Thisisnotlove.It’srevenge.
“Red,”Iwhimper.“Red.Red.”Thetearscoursedownmyface.Hestills.
“No,”hegasps,stunned.“JesusChrist,no.”
Hemovesquickly,unclippingmyhands,claspingmearoundmywaistand
leaningdowntounclipmyankles,whileIputmyheadinmyhandsand
weep.
“No,no,no.Ana,please.No.”
Pickingmeup,hemovestothebed,sittingdownandcradlingmeinhislap
whileIsobinconsolably.I’moverwhelmed…mybodywoundupto
breakingpoint,mymindablankandmyemotionsscatteredtothewind.He
reachesbehindhim,dragsthesatinsheetoffthefour-posterbedanddrapesit
aroundme.Thecoolsheetsfeelalienandunwelcomeagainstmysensitized
skin.Hewrapshisarmsaroundme,huggingmeclose,rockingmegently
backwardandforward.
“I’msorry.I’msorry,”Christianmurmurs,hisvoiceraw.Hekissesmyhair
overandoveragain.“Ana,forgiveme,please.”
Turningmyfaceintohisneck,Icontinuetocry,andit’sacatharticrelease.
Somuchhashappenedoverthelastfewdays—firesincomputerrooms,car
chases,careersplannedoutforme,sluttyarchitects,armedlunaticsinthe
apartment,arguments,hisanger—andChristianhasbeenaway.Ihate
Christiangoingaway…Iusethe231|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
cornerofthesheettowipemynoseandgraduallybecomeawarethatthe
clinicaltonesofBacharestillechoingaroundtheroom.
“Pleaseswitchthemusicoff.”Isniff.
“Yes,ofcourse.”Christianshifts,notlettingmego,andpullstheremoteout
ofhisbackpocket.Hepressesabuttonandthepianomusicceases,tobe
replacedbymyshudderingbreaths.“Better?”heasks.Inod,mysobseasing.
Christianwipesmytearsawaygentlywithhisthumb.
“NotafanofBach’sGoldbergVariations?”heasks.
“Notthatpiece.”
Hegazesdownatme,tryingandfailingtohidetheshameinhiseyes.
“I’msorry,”hesaysagain.
“Whydidyoudothat?”MyvoiceisbarelyaudibleasItrytoprocessmy
scrambledthoughtsandfeelings.
Heshakeshisheadsadlyandcloseshiseyes.“Igotlostinthemoment,”he
saysunconvincingly.
Ifrownathim,andhesighs.“Ana.Orgasmdenialisastandardtoolin––You
never—”Hestops.Ishiftinhislap,andhewinces.Oh.Iflush.“Sorry,”I
mutter.
Herollshiseyes,thenleansbacksuddenly,takingmewithhim,sothatwe’re
bothlyingonthebed,meinhisarms.Mybraisuncomfortable,andIadjust
it.
“Needahand?”heasksquietly.
Ishakemyhead.Idon’twanthimtotouchmybreasts.Heshiftssohe’s
lookingdownatme,andtentativelyraisinghishand,hestrokeshisfingers
gentlydownmyface.Tearspoolinmyeyesagain.Howcanhebesocallous
oneminuteandsotenderthenext?
“Pleasedon’tcry,”hewhispers.
I’mdazedandconfusedbythisman.Myangerhasdesertedmeinmyhourof
need…Ifeelnumb.Iwanttocurlupinaballandwithdraw.Iblink,tryingto
holdbackmytearsasIgazeintohisharrowedeyes.Itakeashuddering
breath,myeyesnotleavinghis.WhatamIgoingtodowiththiscontrolling
man?Learntobecontrolled?Idon’tthinkso…
“Ineverwhat?”Iask
232|Page
ELJAMES
“Doasyou’retold.Youchangedyourmind;youdidn’ttellmewhereyou
were.Ana,IwasinNewYork,powerlessandlivid.IfI’dbeeninSeattleI’d
havebroughtyouhome.”
“Soyouarepunishingme?”
Heswallows,thencloseshiseyes.Hedoesn’thavetoanswer,andIknowthat
punishingmewashisexactintention.
“Youhavetostopdoingthis,”Imurmur.
Hisbrowfurrows.
“Forastart,youonlyendupfeelingshittieraboutyourself.”
Hesnorts.“That’strue,”hemutters.“Idon’tliketoseeyoulikethis.”
“AndIdon’tlikefeelinglikethis.YousaidontheFairLadythatyouhadn’t
marriedasubmissive.”
“Iknow.Iknow.”Hisvoiceissoftandraw.
“Wellstoptreatingmelikeone.I’msorryIdidn’tcallyou.Iwon’tbeso
selfishagain.Iknowyouworryaboutme.”
Hegazesatme,scrutinizingmeclosely,hiseyesbleakandanxious.
“Okay.Good,”hesayseventually.Heleansdown,butpausesbeforehislips
touchmine,silentlyaskingifit’sallowed.Iraisemyfacetohis,andhekisses
metenderly.
“Yourlipsarealwayssosoftwhenyou’vebeencrying,”hemurmurs.
“Ineverpromisedtoobeyyou,Christian,”Iwhisper.
“Iknow.”
“Dealwithit,please.Forbothoursakes.AndIwilltryandbemore
considerateofyour…controllingtendencies.”
Heblinks,lookinglostandvulnerable,completelyatsea.
“I’lltry,”hemurmurs,hisvoiceburningwithsincerity.Isigh,along
shudderingsigh.“Pleasedo.Besides,ifIhadbeenhere…”
“Iknow,”hesaysandblanches.Lyingback,heputshisfreearmoverhis
face.Icurlaroundhimandlaymyheadonhischest.Webothliesilentfora
fewmoments.Hishandmovestotheendofmybraid.Hepullsthetiefromit,
freeingmyhair,andgently,rhythmically,combshisfingersthroughit.Thisis
whatthisisreallyabout—hisfear…hisirrationalfearformysafety.An
imageofJackSmith233|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
slumpedonthefloorinmyapartmentwithaGlockcomestomind…well,
maybenotsoirrational,whichremindsme…
“Whatdidyoumeanearlier,whenyousaidor?”Iask.
“Or?”
“SomethingaboutJack.”
Hepeersdownatme.“Youdon’tgiveup,doyou?”
Irestmychinonhissternum,enjoyingthesoothingcaressofhisfingersin
myhair.
“Giveup?Never.Tellme.Idon’tlikebeingkeptinthedark.Youseemto
havesomeoverblownideathatIneedprotecting.Youdon’tevenknowhow
toshoot—Ido.DoyouthinkIcan’thandlewhateveritisyouwon’ttellme,
Christian?I’vehadyourstalkerex-subpullagunonme,yourpedophileex-
loverharassme—anddon’tlookatmelikethat,”Isnapwhenhescowlsat
me.“Yourmotherfeelsthesamewayabouther.”
“YoutalkedtomymotheraboutElena?”Christian’svoicerisesafewoctaves.
“Yes,GraceandItalkedabouther.”
Hegapesatme.
“She’sveryupsetaboutit.Blamesherself.”
“Ican’tbelieveyouspoketomymother.Shit!”Heliesdownandputshisarm
overhisfaceagain.
“Ididn’tgointoanyspecifics.”
“Ishouldhopenot.Gracedoesn’tneedallthegorydetails.Christ,Ana.My
dad,too?”
“No!”Ishakemyheadvehemently.Idon’thavethatkindofrelationshipwith
Carrick.Hiscommentsabouttheprenupstillsting.
“Anyway,you’retryingtodistractme—again.Jack.Whatabouthim?”
Christianliftshisarmbrieflyandgazesatme,hisexpressionunreadable.
Sighing,heputshisarmbackoverhisface.
“HydeisimplicatedinCharlieTango’ssabotage.Theinvestigatorsfounda
partialprint—justpartial,sotheycouldn’tmakeamatch.Butthenyou
recognizedHydeintheserverroom.HehasconvictionsasaminorinDetroit,
andtheprintsmatchedhis.”
MymindreelsasItrytoabsorbthisinformation.JackbroughtdownCharlie
Tango?ButChristianisonaroll.“Thismorning,acargovanwasfoundin
thegaragehere.Hydewasthedriver.Yesterday,he234|Page
ELJAMES
deliveredsomeshittothatnewguywho’smovedin.Theguywemetinthe
elevator.”
“Idon’trememberhisname.”
“Meneither.”Christiansays.“Butthat’showHydemanagedtogetintothe
buildinglegitimately.Hewasworkingforadeliverycompany—”
“And?What’ssoimportantaboutthevan?”
Christiansaysnothing.
“Christian,tellme.”
“Thecopsfound…thingsinthevan.”Hestopsagainandtightenshishold
aroundme.
“Whatthings?”
He’squietforseveralmoments,andIopenmymouthtoprompthimagain,
buthespeaks.“Amattress,enoughhorsetranquilizertotakedownadozen
horses,andanote.”Hisvoicehassoftenedtobarelyawhisperwhilehorror
andrevulsionrolloffhim.
Holyfuck.
“Note?”Myvoicemirrorshis.
“Addressedtome.”
“Whatdiditsay?”
Christianshakeshishead,indicatinghedoesn’tknoworthathewon’tdivulge
itscontents.
Oh.
“Hydecameherelastnightwiththeintentionofkidnappingyou.”
Christianfreezes,hisfacetautwithtension.AshesaysthosewordsIrecall
theducttape,andashudderrunsthroughme,thoughdeepdownthisisnot
newstome.
“Shit,”Imutter.
“Quite,”Christiansaystightly.
ItryandrememberJackintheoffice.Washealwaysinsane?Howdidhe
thinkhecouldgetawaywiththis?Imeanhewasprettycreepy,butthis
unhinged?
“Idon’tunderstandwhy,”Imurmur.“Itdoesn’tmakesensetome.”
“Iknow.Thepolicearediggingfurther,andsoisWelch.ButwethinkDetroit
istheconnection.”
“Detroit?”Igazeathim,confused.
“Yeah.There’ssomethingthere.”
235|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Istilldon’tunderstand.”
Christianliftshisfaceandgazesatme,hisexpressionunreadable.
“Ana,IwasborninDetroit.”
236|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterTwelve
“IthoughtyouwerebornhereinSeattle,”Imurmur.Mymindraces.What
doesthishavetodowithJack?Christianraisesthearmcoveringhisface,
reachesbehindhim,andgrabsoneofthepillows.Placingitunderhishead,
hesettlesbackandgazesatme,hisexpressionwary.Afteramomenthe
shakeshishead.
“No.ElliotandIwerebothadoptedinDetroit.Wemovedhereshortlyafter
myadoption.Gracewantedtobeonthewestcoast,awayfromtheurban
sprawl,andshegotajobatNorthwestHospital.Ihaveverylittlememoryof
thattime.Miawasadoptedhere.”
“SoJackisfromDetroit?”
“Yes.”
Oh…“Howdoyouknow?”
“Iranabackgroundcheckwhenyouwenttoworkforhim.”
Ofcoursehedid.“Doyouhaveamanilafileonhim,too?”Ismirkupathim.
Christian’smouthtwistsashehideshisamusement.“Ithinkit’spaleblue.”
Hisfingerscontinuetorunthroughmyhair.It’ssoothing.
“Whatdoesitsayinhisfile?”
Christianblinks.Reachingdownhestrokesmycheek.“Youreallywantto
know?”
“Isitthatbad?”
Heshrugs.“I’veknownworse,”hewhispers.
No!Ishereferringtohimself?AndtheimageIhaveofChristianasasmall,
dirty,fearful,lostboycomestomind.Icurlaroundhim,holdinghimtighter,
pullingthesheetoverhim,andIlaymycheekagainsthischest.
“What?”heasks,puzzledbymyreaction.
“Nothing,”Imurmur.
“No,no.Thisworksbothways,Ana.Whatisit?”
237|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Iglanceupassessinghisapprehensiveexpression.Restingmycheekuponhis
chestoncemore,Idecidetotellhim.“SometimesIpictureyouasachild…
beforeyoucametolivewiththeGreys.”
Christianstiffens.“Iwasn’ttalkingaboutme.Idon’twantyourpity,
Anastasia.Thatpartofmylifeisdone.Gone.”
“It’snotpity,”Iwhisper,appalled.“It’ssympathyandsorrow—
sorrowthatanyonecoulddothattoachild.”Itakeadeepsteadyingbreathas
mystomachtwistsandtearsprickmyeyesanew.“Thatpartofyourlifeisnot
done,Christian—howcanyousaythat?Youliveeverydaywithyourpast.
Youtoldmeyourself—FiftyShades,remember?”Myvoiceisbarelyaudible.
Christiansnortsandrunshisfreehandthroughhishair,thoughheremains
silentandtensebeneathme.
“Iknowit’swhyyoufeeltheneedtocontrolme.Keepmesafe.”
“Andyetyouchoosetodefyme,”hemurmursbaffled,hishandstillinginmy
hair.
Ifrown.Holycow!DoIdothatdeliberately?Mysubconsciousremovesher
half-moonglassesandchewstheend,pursingherlipsandnodding.Iignore
her.Thisisconfusing—I’mhiswife,nothissubmissive,notsomecompany
he’sacquired.I’mnotthecrackwhorewhowashismother…Fuck.The
thoughtissickening.Dr.Flynn’swordscomebacktome:
“Justkeepdoingwhatyou’redoing.Christianisheadoverheels…It’sa
delighttosee.”
That’sit.I’mjustdoingwhatI’vealwaysdone.Isn’tthatwhatChristian
foundattractiveinthefirstplace?
Oh,thismanissoconfusing.
“Dr.FlynnsaidIshouldgiveyouthebenefitofthedoubt.IthinkIdo—I’m
notsure.Perhapsit’smywayofbringingyouintothehereandnow—away
fromyourpast,”Iwhisper.“Idon’tknow.Ijustcan’tseemtogetahandleon
howfaryou’lloverreact.”
He’ssilentforamoment.“FuckingFlynn,”hemutterstohimself.
“HesaidIshouldcontinuetobehavethewayI’vealwaysbehavedwithyou.”
“Didhenow?”Christiansaysdryly.
238|Page
ELJAMES
Okay.Heregoesnothing.“Christian,Iknowyoulovedyourmom,andyou
couldn’tsaveher.Itwasn’tyourjobtodothat.ButI’mnother.”
Hefreezesagain.“Don’t,”hewhispers.
“No,listen.Please.”Iraisemyheadtostareintograyeyesthatareparalyzed
withfear.He’sholdinghisbreath.Oh,Christian…myheartconstricts.“I’m
nother.I’mmuchstrongerthanshewas.Ihaveyou,andyou’resomuch
strongernow,andIknowyouloveme.Iloveyou,too,”Iwhisper.
Hisbrowcreasesasifmywordswerenotwhatheexpected.“Doyoustill
loveme?”heasks.
“OfcourseIdo.Christian,Iwillalwaysloveyou.Nomatterwhatyoudoto
me.”Isthisthereassurancehewants?
Heexhalesandcloseshiseyes,placinghisarmoverhisfaceagain,but
huggingmecloser,too.
“Don’thidefromme.”Reachingup,Igrasphishandandpullhisarmaway
fromhisface.“You’vespentyourlifehiding.Pleasedon’t,notfromme.”
Heblinksdownatmewithincredulityandfrowns.“Hiding?”
“Yes.”
Heshiftssuddenly,rollingoverontohissideandmovingmesothatIam
lyingbesidehimonthebed.Hereachesup,smoothesmyhairoffmyface
andtucksitbehindmyear.
“YouaskedmeearliertodayifIhatedyou.Ididn’tunderstandwhy,andnow
—”Hestops,staringdownatmeasifI’macompleteconundrum.
“YoustillthinkIhateyou?”Nowmyvoiceisincredulous.
“No.”Heshakeshishead.“Notnow.”Helooksrelieved.“ButIneedtoknow
—whydidyousafeword,Ana?”
Iblanch.WhatcanItellhim?Thathefrightenedme.ThatIdidn’tknowif
he’dstop.ThatIbeggedhim—andhedidn’tstop.ThatIdidn’twantthingsto
escalate…like—likethatonetimeinhere.IshudderasIrecallhimwhipping
mewithhisbelt.
Iswallow.“Because…becauseyouweresoangryanddistantand…cold.I
didn’tknowhowfaryou’dgo.”
Hisexpressionisunreadable.
239|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Wereyougoingtoletmecome?”Myvoiceisbarelyawhisper,andIfeela
blushstealovermycheeks,butIholdhisgaze.
“No,”hesayseventually.
Holycrap.“That’s…harsh.”
Hisknucklegentlygrazesmycheek.“Buteffective,”hemurmurs.Hegazes
downatmeasifhe’stryingtoseeintomysoul,hiseyesdarkening.Afteran
eternity,hemurmurs,“I’mgladyoudid.”
Oh!“Really?”Idon’tunderstand.
Hislipstwistinasadsmile.“Yes.Idon’twanttohurtyou.Igotcarried
away.”Hereachesdownandkissesme.“Lostinthemoment.”
Hekissesmeagain.“Happensalotwithyou.”
Oh?Andforsomebizarrereasonthethoughtpleasesme…Igrin.Whydoes
thatmakemehappy?Hegrins,too.
“Idon’tknowwhyyou’regrinning,Mrs.Grey.”
“Meneither.”
Hewrapshimselfaroundmeandplaceshisheadonmychest.Weareatangle
ofnakedanddenim-cladlimbs,andsatinredsheets.Istrokehisbackwith
onehandandrunthefingersofmyotherhandthroughhishair.Hesighsand
relaxesinmyarms.
“ItmeansIcantrustyou…tostopme.Ineverwanttohurtyou,”
hemurmurs.“Ineed—”Hehalts.
“Youneedwhat?”
“Ineedcontrol,Ana.LikeIneedyou.It’stheonlywayIcanfunction.Ican’t
letgoofit.Ican’t.I’vetried…Andyet,withyou…”Heshakeshisheadin
exasperation.
Iswallow.Thisistheheartofourdilemma—hisneedforcontrolandhisneed
forme.Irefusetobelievethesearemutuallyexclusive.
“Ineedyou,too,”Iwhisper,hugginghimtighter.“I’lltry,Christian.I’lltryto
bemoreconsiderate.”
“Iwantyoutoneedme,”hemurmurs.
Holycow.OfcourseIneedhim!
“Ido.”Myvoiceisimpassioned.Ineedhimsomuch.Ilovehimsomuch.
“Iwanttolookafteryou.”
“Youdo.Allthetime.Imissedyousomuchwhileyouwereaway.”
“Youdid?”Hesoundssosurprised.
“Yes,ofcourse.Ihateyougoingaway.”
240|Page
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Isensehissmile.“Youcouldhavecomewithme.”
“Christian,please.Let’snotrehashthatargument.Iwanttowork.”
HesighsasIworkmyfingersgentlythroughhishair.
“Iloveyou,Ana.”
“Iloveyou,too,Christian.Iwillalwaysloveyou.”
Webothliestillinthecalm,quietafterourstorm.Listeningtothesteadybeat
ofhisheart,Idriftexhaustedintosleep.
Iwakewithastart,disorientated.WhereamI?Theplayroom.Thelightsare
stillon,softlyilluminatingthebloodredwalls.Christianmoansagain,andI
realizethisiswhatwokeme.
“No,”hegroans.He’ssprawledoutbesideme,hisheadback,hiseyes
screwedshut,hisfacecontortedinanguish.
Holyshit.He’shavinganightmare.
“No!”hecriesoutagain.
“Christian,wakeup.”Istruggletositup,kickingoffthesheet.Kneeling
besidehim,Igrabhisshouldersandshakehimastearsspringtomyeyes.
“Christian,please.Wakeup!”
Hiseyesspringopen,grayandwild,hispupilsenlargedwithfear.Hestares
vacantlyupatme.
“Christian,you’rehavinganightmare.You’rehome.You’resafe.”
Heblinks,looksaroundfrantically,andfrownsashetakesinour
surroundings.Thenhiseyesarebackonmine.“Ana,”hebreathes,andwith
nopreamblewhatsoeverhereachesupwithbothhands,grabbingmyface,
andpullsmedownontohischestandkissesme.Hard.Histongueinvadesmy
mouth,andhetastesofdesperationandneed.Barelygivingmeachanceto
breathe,herollsover,hislipslockedtomine,sothathe’spressingmeintothe
four-poster’shardmattress.Oneofhishandsclaspsmyjaw,theotherspreads
outontopofmyhead,keepingmestillashiskneepartsmylegsandhe
nestles,stillclothedinhisjeans,betweenmythighs.
“Ana,”hegasps,asifhecan’tbelieveI’mtherewithhim.Hegazesdownat
meforasplitsecond,allowingmeamomenttobreathe.Thenhislipsareon
mineagain,plunderingmymouth,takingallIhavetogive.Hegroansloudly,
flexinghishipsintome.Hiserectionsheathed241|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
indenimpushesintomysoftflesh.Oh…Imoan,andallthepent-upsexual
tensionofearliererupts,resurfacingwithavengeance,flushingmysystem
withdesireandneed.Drivenbyhisdemons,heurgentlykissesmyface,my
eyes,mycheeks,alongmyjaw.
“I’mhere,”Iwhisper,tryingtocalmhim,ourheated,pantingbreath
mingling.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisshoulders,asIgrindmypelvisagainst
hisinwelcome.
“Oh,Ana,”hepants,hisvoiceroughandlow.“Ineedyou.”
“Me,too,”Iwhisperurgently,mybodydesperateforhistouch.Iwanthim.I
wanthimnow.Iwanttohealhim.Iwanttohealme…Ineedthis.Hishand
reachesdownandtugsonthebuttonofhisfly,fumblingmomentarily,then
freeinghiserection.
Holyshit.MyheartlurchesasIfleetinglythinkIwasasleeplessthana
minuteago.Heshifts,staringdownatmeforasplitsecond,suspendedabove
me.
“Yes.Please,”Ibreathe,myvoicehoarseandneedy.Andinoneswiftmove
heburieshimselfinsideme.
“Ah!”Icryout,notfromanypain,butfromsurpriseathisalacrity.He
groans,andhislipsfindmineagainashepushesintome,overandover,his
tonguepossessingme,too.Hemovesfrantically,compelledbyhisfear,his
lust,hisdesire,his—love?Idon’tknow,butImeethimthrustforthrust,
welcominghim.
“Ana,”hegrowlsalmostinarticulately,andhecomespowerfully,pouring
himselfintome,hisfacestrained,hisbodyrigid,beforehecollapseswithhis
fullweightontome,panting,andheleavesmehanging…again.
Holyshit.Thisisnotmynight.Myinnergoddessispreparingtodisembowel
herself.Iholdhim,drawinginalungfulofairandpracticallywrithingwith
needbeneathhim.Heeasesoutofmeandholdsmeforminutes…many
minutes.Finallyheshakeshisheadandleansuponhiselbows,takingsome
ofhisweight.Hegazesdownatmeasifseeingmeforthefirsttime.
“Oh,Ana.SweetJesus.”Hebendsandkissesmetenderly.
“Youokay?”Ibreathe,reachingupandcaressinghislovelyface.Heblinks
andnods.Helooksshakenandmostdefinitelystirred;myownlostboy.He
frownsandstaresintentlyintomyeyesasiffinallyregisteringwhereheis.
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ELJAMES
“You?”heasks,concernevidentinhisvoice.
“Um…”Iwrigglebeneathhimandafteramomenthesmiles,aslowcarnal
smile.
“Mrs.Grey,youhaveneeds,”hemurmurs.Hekissesmeswiftly,thenscoots
offthebed.
What?
Kneelingonthefloorattheendofthebed,hereachesup,grabsmejust
abovethekneesandpullsmetowardhimsomybehindisontheedgeofthe
bed.
“Situp,”hemurmurs.Istruggleintoasittingposition,myhairfallinglikea
veilaroundme,downtomybreasts.Hisgraygazeholdsmineashegently
pushesmylegsapartasfarasthey’llgo.Ileanbackonmyhands—knowing
fullwellwhathe’sgoingtodo.But…he’sjust…um…
“Youaresofuckingbeautiful,Ana,”hebreathes,andIwatchhiscopper-
hairedheaddipandplantatrailofkissesupmyrightthigh,headingnorth.
Mywholebodyclenchesinanticipation.Heglancesupatme,hiseyes
darkeningthroughlonglashes.
“Watch,”heraspsthenhismouthisonme.
Ohmy.Icryoutastheworldisconcentratedattheapexofmythighs,andit’s
soerotic—Fuck—watchinghim.Watchinghistongueagainstwhatfeelslike
themostsensitivepartofmybody.Andheshowsnomercy,teasingand
taunting,worshippingme.Mybodytensesandmyarmsstarttotremblefrom
thestrainofstayingupright.
“No…ah,”Imurmur.Gently,heeasesonelongfingerinsidemeandIcan
bearitnomore,collapsingbackontothebed,relishingthismouthandfingers
onandinme.Slowlyandgently,hemassagesthatsweet,sweetspotdeep
insideme.Andthat’sit—I’mgone.Iexplodearoundhim,cryingoutan
incoherentrenditionofhisnameasmyintenseorgasmarchesmybackoffthe
bed.IthinkIseestarsit’ssuchavisceralprimalfeeling…VaguelyI’m
awarethathe’snuzzlingmybelly,givingmesoft,sweetkisses.Reaching
down,Icaresshishair.
“I’mnotfinishedwithyouyet,”hemurmurs.AndbeforeI’vefullycome
backtoSeattle,PlanetEarth,he’sreachingforme,graspingmyhipsand
pullingmeoffthebedtowhere’she’skneeling,andintohiswaitinglapand
ontohiswaitingerection.
Igaspashefillsme.Holycow…
243|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Oh,baby,”hebreathesashewrapshisarmsaroundmeandstills,cradling
myheadandkissingmyface.Heflexeshiships,andpleasurespikeshotand
hardfromdeepwithinme.Hereachesformybehindandliftsme,rockinghis
groinupward.
“Ah,”Imoan,andhislipsareonmineagainasheslowly,ohsoslowly,lifts
androcks…liftsandrocks.Ithrowmyarmsaroundhisneck,surrenderingto
hisgentlerhythmandtowhereverhe’lltakeme.Iflexmythighs,ridinghim
…hefeelssogood.Leaningbackward,Itiltmyheadback,mymouthopen
wideinasilentexpressionofmypleasure,revelinginhissweetlovemaking.
“Ana,”hebreathes,andheleansdown,kissingmythroat.Holdingmetight,
slowlyeasinginandout,pushingme…higherandhigher…soexquisitely
timed—afluidcarnalforce.Blissfulpleasureradiatesoutwardfromdeep,
deepinsidemeasheholdsmesointimately.
“Iloveyou,Ana,”hewhispersclosetomyear,hisvoicelowandharsh,and
heliftsmeagain—up,down,up,down.Icurlmyhandsbackaroundhisneck
intohishair.
“Iloveyou,too,Christian.”Openingmyeyes,Ifindhe’sgazingatme,and
allIseeishislove,shiningbrightandboldinthesoftglowoftheplayroom
light,hisnightmareseeminglyforgotten.AndasIfeelmybodybuildtoward
myrelease,IrealizethisiswhatIwanted—thisconnection,this
demonstrationofourlove.
“Comeforme,baby,”hewhispers,hisvoicelow.Iscrewmyeyesshutasmy
bodytightensatthelowsoundofhisvoice,andIcomeloudly,spiralinginto
anintenseclimax.Hestills,hisforeheadagainstmine,ashesoftlywhispers
myname,wrapshisarmsaroundmeandfindshisownrelease.
Heliftsmegentlyandlaysmeonthebed.Ilieinhisarms,wrungoutand
finallysated.Henuzzlesmyneck.
“Betternow?”hewhispers.
“Hmm.”
“Shallwegotobed,ordoyouwanttosleephere?”
“Hmm.”
“Mrs.Grey,talktome.”Hesoundsamused.
244|Page
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“Hmm.”
“Isthatthebestyoucando?”
“Hmm.”
“Come.Letmeputyoutobed.Idon’tlikesleepinghere.”
Reluctantly,Ishiftandturntofacehim.“Wait,”Iwhisper.Heblinksatme,
lookingallwide-eyedandinnocent,andatthesametimethoroughlyfucked
andpleasedwithhimself.
“Areyouokay?”Iask.
Henods,smilingsmuglylikeanadolescentboy.“Iamnow.”
“Oh,Christian,”Iscoldandreachuptogentlystrokehislovelyface.“Iwas
talkingaboutyournightmare.”
Hisexpressionfreezesmomentarily,thenhecloseshiseyesandtightenshis
armsaroundme,buryinghisfaceinmyneck.
“Don’t,”hewhispers,hisvoicehoarseandraw.Myheartlurchesandtwists
oncemoreinmychest,andIclutchhimtightly,runningmyhandsdownhis
backandthroughhishair.
“I’msorry,”Iwhisper,alarmedbyhisreaction.Holyfuck—howcanIkeep
upwiththesemoodswings?Whatthehellwashisnightmareabout?Idon’t
wanttocausehimanymorepainbymakinghimrelivethedetails.“It’s
okay,”Imurmursoftly,desperatetobringhimbacktotheplayfulboyofa
momentago.“It’sokay,”Irepeatoverandoversoothingly.
“Let’sgotobed,”hesaysquietlyafterawhile,andhepullsawayfromme,
leavingmeemptyandachingasherisesfromthebed.Iscrambleafterhim,
keepingthesatinsheetwrappedaroundme,andbendtopickupmyclothes.
“Leavethose,”hesays,andbeforeIknowit,hescoopsmeupinhisarms.“I
don’twantyoutotripoverthissheetandbreakyourneck.”Iputmyarms
aroundhimmarvelingthathe’srecoveredhiscomposure,andnuzzlehimas
hecarriesmedownstairstoourbedroom.
Myeyesspringopen.Somethingiswrong.Christianisnotinbed,thoughit’s
stilldark.Glancingattheradioalarm,Iseeit’sthreetwentyinthemorning.
Where’sChristian?ThenIhearthepiano.Quicklyslippingoutofbed,Igrab
myrobeandrundownthehallwaytothegreatroom.Thetunehe’splayingis
sosad—amournful245|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
lamentthatI’veheardhimplaybefore.Ipauseinthedoorwayandwatchhim
inhispooloflightwhiletheachinglysorrowfulmusicfillstheroom.He
finishesthenstartsthepieceagain.Whysuchaplaintivetune?Iwrapmy
armsaroundmyselfandlistenspellboundasheplays.Butmyheartaches;
Christian,whysosad?Isitbecauseofme?DidIdothis?Whenhefinishes,
onlytostartathirdtime,Icanbearitnolonger.Hedoesn’tlookupasInear
thepiano,butshiftstoonesidesoIcansitbesidehimonthepianostool.He
continuestoplay,andIputmyheadonhisshoulder.Hekissesmyhairbut
doesn’tstopplayinguntilhe’sfinishedthepiece.Ipeekupathimandhe’s
staringdownatme,warily.
“DidIwakeyou?”heasks.
“Onlybecauseyouweregone.What’sthatpiececalled?”
“It’sChopin.It’soneofhispreludesinEminor.”Christianpauses.
“It’scalledSuffocation…”
ReachingoverItakehishand.“You’rereallyshakenbyallthis,aren’tyou?”
Hesnorts.“Aderangedassholegetsintomyapartmenttokidnapmywife.
Shewon’tdoasshe’stold.Shedrivesmecrazy.Shesafewordsonme.”He
closeshiseyesbrieflyandwhenheopensthemagain,theyarestarkandraw.
“Yeah,I’mprettyshakenup.”
Isqueezehishand.“I’msorry.”
Hebendsandpresseshisforeheadagainstmine.“Idreamedyouweredead,”
hewhispers.
What?
“Lyingonthefloor—socold—andyouwouldn’twakeup.”
Oh,Fifty.
“Hey—itwasjustabaddream.”Reachingup,Iclasphisheadinmyhands.
Hiseyesburnintomineandtheanguishinthemissobering.
“I’mhereandI’mcoldwithoutyouinthebed.Comebacktobed,please.”I
takehishandandstand,waitingtoseeifhe’llfollowme.Finallyhestands,
too.He’swearinghispajamabottoms,andtheyhanginthatwayhehas,andI
wanttorunmyfingersalongtheinsideofhiswaistband,butIresistandlead
himbacktothebedroom.
246|Page
ELJAMES
WhenIwakehe’scurledaroundme,sleepingpeacefully.Irelaxandenjoyhis
envelopingheat,hisskinonmyskin.Ilieverystill,notwantingtodisturb
him.
Boy,whatanevening.IfeellikeI’vebeenrunoverbyatrain—thefreight
trainthatismyhusband.Hardtobelievethatthemanlyingbesideme,
lookingsosereneandyounginhissleep,wassotorturedlastnight…andso
torturedmelastnight.Igazeupattheceiling,anditoccurstomethatI
alwaysthinkofChristianasstronganddominating—yettherealityishe’sso
fragile,mylostboy.Andtheironyisthathelooksuponmeasfragile—andI
don’tthinkIam.ComparedtohimI’mstrong.
ButamIstrongenoughforbothofus?StrongenoughtodowhatI’mtoldand
givehimsomepeaceofmind?Isigh.He’snotaskingthatmuchofme.Iflit
throughourconversationoflastnight.Didwedecideanythingotherthanto
bothtryharder?ThebottomlineisthatIlovethisman,andIneedtocharta
courseforbothofus.Onethatletsmekeepmyintegrityandindependence
butstillbemoreforhim.Iamhismore,andheismine.Iresolvetomakea
specialeffortthisweekendnottogivehimcauseforconcern.
Christianstirsandliftshisheadoffmychest,blinkingsleepilyatme.
“Goodmorning,Mr.Grey.”Ismile.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Grey.Didyousleepwell?”Hestretchesoutbesideme.
“Oncemyhusbandstoppedmakingthatterribleracketonthepiano,yes,I
did.”
Hesmileshisshysmile,andImelt.“Terribleracket?I’llbesuretoe-mail
MissKathieandletherknow.”
“MissKathie?”
“Mypianoteacher.”
Igiggle.
“That’salovelysound,”hesays.“Shallwehaveabetterdaytoday?”
“Okay,”Iagree.“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”
“AfterIhavemadelovetomywife,andshe’scookedmebreakfast,I’dlike
totakehertoAspen.”
Igapeathim.“Aspen?”
247|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Yes.”
“Aspen,Colorado?”
“Theverysame.Unlessthey’vemovedit.Afterall,youdidpaytwenty-four
thousanddollarsfortheexperience.”
Igrinathim.“Thatwasyourmoney.”
“Ourmoney.”
“ItwasyourmoneywhenImadethebid.”Irollmyeyes.
“Oh,Mrs.Grey,youandyoureyerolling,”hewhispersasherunshishandup
mythigh.
“Won’tittakehourstogettoColorado?”Iasktodistracthim.
“Notbyjet,”hesayssilkilyashishandreachesmybehind.Ofcourse—my
husbandhasajet.HowcouldIforget?Hishandcontinuestoskimupmy
body,liftingmynightdressasitgoes,andsoonI’veforgotteneverything.
TaylordrivesusontothetarmacatSea-TacandaroundtowheretheGEHjet
iswaiting.It’sagraydayinSeattle,butIrefusetolettheweatherdampenmy
soaringspirits.Christianisinamuchbettermood—he’sexcitedabout
something;lituplikeChristmas,andtwitchinglikeasmallboywithabig
secret.Iwonderwhatschemehe’sdreamedup.Helooksdreamy—alltousled
hair,whiteT-shirtandblackjeans—notCEO-likeatalltoday.Hetakesmy
handasTaylorglidestoastopatthefootofthejetsteps.
“Ihaveasurpriseforyou,”hemurmursandkissesmyknuckles.Igrinathim.
“Goodsurprise?”
“Ihopeso.”Hesmileswarmly.
Hmm…whatcanitbe?
Sawyerleapsoutfromthefrontandopensmydoor.TayloropensChristian’s
thenretrievesourcasesfromthetrunk.Stephaniswaitingatthetopofthe
stairswhenweentertheaircraft.IglanceintothecockpittoseeFirstOfficer
Beighleyflippingswitchesontheimposinginstrumentpanel.
ChristianandStephanshakehands.“Goodmorning,sir.”Stephanbeamsat
Christian.
“Thanksfordoingthisatsuchshortnotice.”Christiangrinsbackathim.“Our
guestshere?”
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ELJAMES
“Yessir,”Stephanreplies.
Guests?Iturnandgasp.Kate,Elliot,Mia,andEthanareallseatedinthe
creamleatherseats,smilingatus.Wow!MyeyeswhiptoChristian’s.
“Surprise!”hesays.
“How?When?Who?”Imumbleinarticulately,tryingtocontainmydelight
andelation.
“Yousaidyoudidn’tseeenoughofyourfriends.”Heshrugsandgivesmea
lopsided,apologeticsmile.
“Oh,Christian,thankyou.”Ithrowmyarmsaroundhisneckandkisshim
hardinfrontofeveryone.Heputshishandsonmyhips,hookinghisthumbs
throughthebeltloopsofmyjeans,anddeepensthekiss.
Ohmy.
“KeepthisupandI’lldragyouintothebedroom,”hemurmurs.
“Youwouldn’tdare,”Iwhisperagainsthislips.
“Oh,Anastasia.”Hegrins,shakinghishead.Hereleasesmeandwithout
furtherpreamble,stoopsdown,grabsmythighs,andliftsmeoverhis
shoulder.
“Christian,putmedown!”Ismackhisbehind.
IbrieflycatchStephan’ssmileasheturnsandheadsintothecockpit.Taylor
isstandingatthedoorwaytryingtostiflehisgrin.Ignoringmypleasandmy
futilestruggles,ChristianstridesthroughthenarrowcabinpastMiaandEthan
whoarefacingeachotherinthesingleseats,pastKateandElliot,whois
whoopinglikeadementedgibbon.
“Ifyou’llexcuseme,”hesaystoourfourguests.“Ineedtohaveawordwith
mywifeinprivate.”
“Christian!”Ishout.“Putmedown!”
“Allingoodtime,baby.”
IhaveabriefviewofMia,Kate,andElliotlaughing.Damnit!Thisisnot
funny—it’sembarrassing.Ethangawksatus,mouthopenandutterly
shocked,aswedisappearintothecabin.
Christianclosesthecabindoorbehindhimandreleasesme,lettingmeslide
downhisbody—slowly,sothatIfeeleveryhardsinewandmuscle.Hegives
mehisboyishgrin,thoroughlypleasedwithhimself.249|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Thatwasquiteashow,Mr.Grey,”Imurmur,crossingmyarmsand
regardinghimwithfauxindignation.
“Thatwasfun,Mrs.Grey.”Andhisgrinwidens…ohboy.Helooksso
young.
“Areyougoingtofollowthrough?”Iarchabrow,unsurehowIfeelabout
this.Imean,theotherswillhearus,forheaven’ssake.Suddenly,Ifeelshy.
Glancinganxiouslyatthebed,IfeelablushstealacrossmycheeksasIrecall
ourweddingnight.Wetalkedsomuchyesterday,didsomuchyesterday…I
feelasifweleapedsomeunknownhurdle—
butthat’stheproblem.It’sunknown.MyeyesfindChristian’sintensebut
amusedgaze,andI’munabletokeepastraightface—hisgrinistoo
infectious.
“Ithinkitmightberudetokeepourguestswaiting,”hesayssilkilyashe
stepstowardme.Whendidhestarttocarewhatpeoplethink?Istepback
againstthecabinwallandheimprisonsme,theheatfromhisbodyholding
meinplace.Heleansdownandrunshisnosealongmine.
“Goodsurprise?”hewhispers,andthere’sahintofanxietyinhisvoice.
“Oh,Christian,fantasticsurprise.”Irunmyhandsuphischest,curlthem
aroundhisneckandkisshim.
“Whendidyouorganizethis?”IaskwhenIpullawayfromhim,strokinghis
hair.
“Lastnight,whenIcouldn’tsleep.Ie-mailedElliotandMia,andherethey
are.”
“It’sverythoughtful—thankyou.I’msurewe’llhaveagreattime.”
“Ihopeso.IthoughtitwouldbeeasiertoavoidthepressinAspenthanat
home.”
Thepaparazzi!He’sright.Ifwe’dstayedinEscala,we’dhavebeen
imprisoned.AshiverrunsdownmyspineasIrecollectthesnappingcameras
anddazzlingflashgunsofthefewphotographersTaylorspedthroughthis
morning.
“Come.We’dbettertakeourseats—Stephanwillbetakingoffshortly.”He
offersmehishandandtogetherwewalkbackintothecabin.
Elliotcheersasweenter.“Thatsurewasspeedyin-flightservice!”
hecallsmockingly.
Christianignoreshim.
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“Pleasebeseated,ladiesandgentlemen,aswe’llshortlybegintaxiingfor
takeoff.”Stephan’svoiceechoescalmlyandauthoritativelyaroundthecabin.
Thebrunettewoman—um…Natalie?—whowasontheflightforour
weddingnightappearsfromthegalleyandgathersupthediscardedcoffee
cups.Natalia…Hername’sNatalia.
“GoodmorningMr.Grey,Mrs.Grey,”shesayswithapurr.Whydoesshe
makemeuncomfortable?Maybeit’sthatshe’sabrunette.Byhisown
admission,Christiandoesn’tusuallyemploybrunettesbecausehefindsthem
attractive.HegivesNataliaapolitesmileasheslidesinbehindthetableand
sitsdownfacingElliotandKate.IswiftlyhugKateandMiaandgiveEthan
andElliotawavebeforesittingdownandbucklingupbesideChristian.He
putshishandonmykneeandgivesitanaffectionatesqueeze.Heseems
relaxedandhappy,eventhoughwe’reincompany.Idly,Iwonderwhyhe
can’talwaysbelikethis—notcontrollingatall.
“Hopeyoupackedyourhikingboots,”hesays,hisvoicewarm.
“We’renotgoingskiing?”
“Thatwouldbeachallenge,inAugust,”hesays,amused.Oh—ofcourse.
“Doyouski,Ana?”Elliotinterruptsus.
“No.”
Christianmoveshishandfrommykneetoclaspmyhand.
“I’msuremylittlebrothercanteachyou.”Elliotwinksatme.“He’spretty
fastontheslopes,too.”
AndIcan’thelpmyblush.WhenIglanceupatChristian,he’sgazing
impassivelyatElliot,butIthinkhe’stryingtosuppresshismirth.Theplane
surgesforwardandstartstaxiingtowardtherunway.Efficiently,Nataliaruns
throughtheplane’ssafetyproceduresinaclear,ringingvoice.She’sdressed
inaneatnavyshort-sleevedshirtandmatchingpencilskirt.Hermakeupis
immaculate—shereallyisquitepretty.Mysubconsciousraisesaplucked-to-
within-an-inch-of-itslifeeyebrowatme.
“Youokay?”Kateasksmepointedly.“Imean,followingtheHydebusiness?”
Inod.Idon’twanttothinkortalkaboutHyde,butKateseemstohaveother
plans.
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Sowhydidhegopostal?”sheasks,cuttingtotheheartofthematterinher
inimitablestyle.Shetossesherhairbehindherasshepreparestoinvestigate
thematter.
Eyeinghercoolly,Christianshrugs.“Ifiredhisass,”hesaysbluntly.
“Oh?Why?”Katetiltsherheadtooneside,andIknowshe’sinfullNancy
Drewmode.
“Hemadeatpassatme,”Imutter.ItrytokickKate’sanklebeneaththetable,
andmiss.Shit!
“When?”Kateglaresatme.
“Agesago.”
“Younevertoldmehemadeapassatyou!”shesplutters.Ishrug,
apologetically.
“Itcan’tjustbeagrudgeaboutthat,surely.Imeanhisreactioniswaytoo
extreme,”Katecontinues,butnowshedirectsherquestionsatChristian.“Is
hementallystable?WhataboutalltheinformationhehasonyouGreys?”Her
grillingChristianthiswaymakesmyhacklesrise,butshe’salready
establishedIknownothingsoshecan’taskme.Thethoughtisannoying.
“Wethinkthere’saconnectionwithDetroit,”Christiansaysmildly.Too
mildly.Ohno,Kate—pleasegiveitupfornow.
“HydeisfromDetroit,too?”
Christiannods.
Theplaneaccelerates,andItightenmygriponChristian’shand.Heglances
atmereassuringly.HeknowsIhatetakeoffsandlandings.Hesqueezesmy
handandhisthumbstrokesmyknuckles,calmingme.
“Whatdoyouknowabouthim?”Elliotasks,oblivioustothefactweare
hurtlingdowntherunwayinasmalljetabouttolaunchitselfintothesky,and
equallyoblivioustoChristian’sgrowingexasperationwithKate.Kateleans
forward,listeningattentively.
“Thisisofftherecord,”Christiansaysdirectlytoher.Kate’smouthsetsina
subtlebutthinline.Iswallow.Ohshit.
“Weknowalittleabouthim,”Christiancontinues.“Hisdaddiedinabrawlin
abar.Hismotherdrankherselfintooblivion.Hewasinandoutoffoster
homesasakid;inandoutoftrouble,too—mainlyboostingcars.Spenttime
injuvie.Hismomgotbackontrackthrough252|Page
ELJAMES
someoutreachprogram,andHydeturnedhimselfaround.Wonascholarship
toPrinceton.”
“Princeton?”Kate’scuriosityispiqued.
“Yep.He’sabrightboy.”Christianshrugs.
“Notthatbright.Hegotcaught,”Elliotmutters.
“Butsurelyhecan’thavepulledthisstuntalone?”Kateasks.Christian
stiffensbesideme.“Wedon’tknowyet.”Hisvoiceisveryquiet.Holycrap.
Therecouldbesomeoneworkingwithhim?Iturnandgapeinhorrorat
Christian.Hesqueezesmyhandoncemorebutdoesn’tlookmeintheeye.
Theplaneliftssmoothlyintotheair,andIgetthathorriblesinkingfeelingin
mystomach.
“Howoldishe?”IaskChristian,leaningclosesoonlyhecanhear.Muchas
I’dliketoknowwhat’sgoingon,Idon’twanttoencourageKate’squestions.
Iknowthey’reirritatingChristian,andI’msureshe’sonhisshitlistsince
Cocktailgate.
“Thirty-two.Why?”
“Curious,that’sall.”
Christian’sjawtightens.“Don’tbecuriousaboutHyde.I’mjustgladthe
fucker’slockedup.”It’salmostareprimand,butIchoosetoignorehistone.
“Doyouthinkhe’sworkingwithsomeone?”Thethoughtthatsomeoneelse
mightbeinvolvedmakesmesick.Itwouldmeanthisisn’tover.
“Idon’tknow,”Christiananswers,andhisjawtightensoncemore.
“Maybesomeonewhohasagrudgeagainstyou?”Isuggest.Holyshit.Ihope
it’snotthebitchtroll.“LikeElena?”Iwhisper.IrealizeI’vemutteredher
nameoutloud—butonlyhecanhear.IglanceanxiouslyatKate,butshe’s
deepinconversationwithElliot.Elliotlookspissedather.Hmm.
“Youdoliketodemonizeher,don’tyou?”Christianrollshiseyesandshakes
hisheadindisgust.“Shemayholdagrudge,butshewouldn’tdothiskindof
thing.”Hepinsmewithasteadygraygaze.
“Let’snotdiscussher.Iknowshe’snotyourfavoritetopicofconversation.”
“Haveyouconfrontedher?”Iwhisper,notsureifIreallywanttoknow.
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Ana,Ihaven’tspokentohersincemybirthdayparty.Please,dropit.Idon’t
wanttotalkabouther.”Heraisesmyhandandbrushesmyknuckleswithhis
lips.Hiseyesburnintomine,andIknowthisisnotalineofquestioningI
shouldpursuerightnow.
“Getaroom,”Elliotteases.“Ohright—youalreadyhave,butyoudidn’tneed
itforlong.”Hesmirks.
ChristianglancesupandpinsElliotwithacoolglare.“Fuckoff,Elliot,”he
sayswithoutmalice.
“Dude,justtellingyouhowitis.”Elliot’seyeslightupwithmirth.
“Likeyou’dknow,”Christianmurmurssardonically,raisinganeyebrow.
Elliotgrins,enjoyingthebanter.“Youmarriedyourfirstgirlfriend.”
Elliotgesturesatme.
Ohshit.Whereisthisgoing?Iflush.
“Canyoublameme?”Christiankissesmyhandagain.
“No.”Elliotlaughsandshakeshishead.
Iflush,andKateslapsElliot’sthigh.
“Stopbeinganass,”shescoldshim.
“Listentoyourgirlfriend,”ChristiansaystoElliot,grinning,hisearlier
concernnolongerevident.Myearspopaswegainaltitude,andthetensionin
thecabindissipatesastheplanelevelsout.KatescowlsatElliot.Hmm…is
somethingupbetweenthem?I’mnotsure.Elliotisright.Isnortattheirony.I
am—was—Christian’sfirstgirlfriend,andnowI’mhiswife.Thefifteenand
theevilMrs.Robinson—theydon’tcount.ButthenElliotdoesn’tknowabout
them,andclearlyKatehasn’ttoldhim.Ismileather,andshegivesmea
conspiratorialwink.MysecretsaresafewithKate.
“Okay,ladiesandgentlemen,we’llbecruisingatanaltitudeofapproximately
thirty-twothousandfeet,andourestimatedflighttimeisonehourandfifty-
sixminutes,”Stephanannounces.“Youarenowfreetomoveaboutthe
cabin.”
Nataliaappearsabruptlyfromthegalley.
“MayIofferanyonecoffee?”sheasks.
254|Page
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ChapterThirteen
WelandsmoothlyatSardyFieldat12:25p.m.(MST).Stephanbringsthe
planetoahaltalittlewayfromthemainterminal,andthroughthewindowsI
spotalargeVWminivanwaitingforus.
“Goodlanding.”ChristiangrinsandshakesStephan’shandaswegetreadyto
fileoutofthejet.
“It’sallaboutthedensityaltitude,sir.”Stephansmilesback.
“Beighleyhereisgoodatmath.”
ChristiannodsatStephan’sfirstofficer.“Younailedit,Beighley,smooth
landing.”
“Thankyou,sir.”Shegrinssmugly.
“Enjoyyourweekend,Mr.Grey,Mrs.Grey.We’llseeyoutomorrow.”
Stephanstepsasidetoletusdisembarkandtakingmyhand,Christianleads
medowntheaircraftstepstowhereTayloriswaitingbythevehicle.
“Minivan?”saysChristianinsurpriseasTaylorslidesopenthedoor.
Taylorgiveshimatight,contritesmileandaslightshrug.
“Lastminute,Iknow,”Christiansays,immediatelyplacated.Taylorreturnsto
theplanetoretrieveourluggage.
“Wanttomakeoutinthebackofthevan?”Christianmurmurstome,a
mischievousgleaminhiseye.
Igiggle.Whoisthisman,andwhathashedonewithMr.UnbelievablyAngry
ofthelastcoupleofdays?
“Comeon,youtwo.Getin,”Miasaysfrombehindus,oozingimpatience
besideEthan.Weclimbin,staggertothedoubleseatattheback,andsit
down.IsnuggleagainstChristian,andheputshisarmaroundthebackofmy
seat.“Comfortable?”hemurmursasMiaandEthantaketheseatinfrontof
us.
“Yes.”Ismileandhekissesmyforehead.Andforsomeunfathomablereason
Ifeelshywithhimtoday.Why?Lastnight?Beingwithcompany?Ican’tput
myfingeronit.
255|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ElliotandKatejoinuslastasTayloropenstheliftgatetoloadtheluggage.
Fiveminuteslater,weareonourway.
IgazeoutthewindowasweheadtowardAspen.Thetreesaregreen,buta
whisperofthecomingfallisevidenthereandthereintheyellowingtipsof
theleaves.Theskyisaclearcrystalblue,thoughtherearedarkeningclouds
tothewest.AllaroundusinthedistanceloomtheRockies,thehighestpeak
directlyahead.They’relushandgreen,andthehighestarecappedwithsnow
andlooklikeachild’sdrawingofmountains.
We’reinthewinterplaygroundoftherichandfamous.AndIownahouse
here.Icanbarelybelieveit.Andfromdeepwithinmypsyche,thefamiliar
uneasethat’salwayspresentwhenItrytowrapmyheadaroundChristian’s
wealthloomsandtauntsme,makingmefeelguilty.WhathaveIdoneto
deservethislifestyle…?I’vedonenothing;nothing,exceptfallinlove.
“HaveyoubeentoAspenbefore,Ana?”Ethanturnsandasksdraggingme
outofmyreverie.
“No,firsttime.You?”
“KateandIusedtocomeherealotwhenwewereteens.Dad’sakeenskier.
Momlessso.”
“I’mhopingmyhusbandwillteachmehowtoski.”Iglanceupatmyman.
“Don’tbetonit,”Christianmutters.
“Iwon’tbethatbad!”
“Youmightbreakyourneck.”Hisgringone.
Oh.Idon’twanttoargueandsourhisgoodmood,soIchangethesubject.
“Howlonghaveyouhadthisplace?”
“Nearlytwoyears.It’syoursnow,too,Mrs.Grey,”hesayssoftly.
“Iknow,”Iwhisper.ButsomehowIdon’tfeelthecourageofmyconvictions.
Leaningup,Ikisshisjawandnestleoncemoreathissidelisteningtohim
laughandjokewithEthanandElliot.Miachimesinoccasionally,butKateis
quiet,andIwonderifshe’sbroodingaboutJackHyde—orsomethingelse.
ThenIremember.Aspen…Christian’shouseherewasredesigned—or
rebuilt,Ican’trememberwhich—byGiaMatteo.Iwonderifthat’swhat’s
preoccupyingKate.Ican’taskherinfrontofElliot,givenhishistorywith
Gia.DoesKateevenknowaboutGia’sconnectiontothehouse?Ifrown
wondering256|Page
ELJAMES
whatcouldbebotheringherandresolvetoaskherwhenwe’reonourown.
WedrivethroughthecenterofAspenandmymoodbrightensasItakeinthe
town.Therearesquatbuildingsofmostlyredbrick,Swissstylechalets,and
numerouslittleturnofthecenturyhousespaintedinfuncolors.Plentyof
banksanddesignershops,too,betrayingtheaffluenceofthelocalpopulace.
OfcourseChristianfitsinhere.
“WhydidyouchooseAspen?”Iaskhim.
“What?”Heregardsmequizzically.
“Tobuyaplace.”
“MomandDadusedtobringusherewhenwewerekids.Ilearnedtoski
here,andIliketheplace.Ihopeyoudo,too—otherwisewe’llsellthehouse
andchoosesomewhereelse.”
Oh!Simpleasthat.Hetucksaloosestrandofmyhairbehindmyear.
“Youlooklovelytoday,”hemurmurs.
Mycheeksheat.I’mjustwearingmytravellinggear;jeansandaTshirtwitha
lightweightnavybluejacket.Damnit?Whydoeshemakemefeelshy?
Heleansdownandkissesme,atender,sweet,lovingkiss.Taylordrivesuson
outoftown,andwestarttoclimbtheothersideofthevalley,twistingalonga
mountainroad.Thehigherwego,themoreexcitedIget,andChristiantenses
besideme.
“What’swrong?”Iaskasweroundabend.
“Ihopeyoulikeit,”hesaysquietly.“We’rehere.”
Taylorslowsandturnsthroughagatewaymadeofgray,beige,andredstones.
Heheadsdownthedrivewayandfinallypullsupoutsidetheimpressive
house.Doublefrontedwithhigh-pitchedroofsandbuiltofdarkwoodandthe
samemixedstoneasthegateway—it’sstunning.Modernandstark,very
muchChristian’sstyle.
“Home,”hemouthsatmeasourguestsstartpilingoutofthevan.
“Looksgood.”
“Come.See,”hesays,anexcited,thoughanxious,gleaminhiseyes—like
he’sabouttoshowmehisscienceproject,orsomething.Miarunsupthe
stepstowhereawomanstandsinthedoorway.She’stinyandherraven-
coloredhairisdustedwithgray.Miaflingsherarmsaroundherneckand
hugshertightly.
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Who’sthat?”IaskasChristianhelpsmeoutofthevan.
“Mrs.Bentley.Shelivesherewithherhusband.Theylookaftertheplace.”
Holycow…morestaff?
Miaismakingintroductions—Ethan,thenKate.Elliot,too,hugsMrs.
Bentley.AsTaylorunloadsthevan,Christiantakesmyhandandleadsmeto
thefrontdoor.
“Welcomeback,Mr.Grey.”Mrs.Bentleysmiles.
“Carmella,thisismywife,Anastasia,”Christiansaysproudly.Histongue
caressesmyname,makingmyheartstutter.
“Mrs.Grey,”Mrs.Bentleynodsarespectfulgreeting.Iholdoutmyhandand
weshake.It’snosurprisetomethatshe’smuchmoreformalwithChristian
thantherestofthefamily.
“Ihopeyou’vehadapleasantflight.Theweatherissupposedtobefineall
weekend,thoughI’mnotsure.”Sheeyesthegrayingcloudsbehindus.
“Lunchisreadywheneveryouwant.”Shesmilesagain,herdarkeyes
twinkling,andIwarmtoherimmediately.
“Here.”Christiangrabsmeandliftsmeoffmyfeet.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Isqueal.
“Carryingyouoveryetanotherthreshold,Mrs.Grey.”
Igrinathimashecarriesmeintothewidehallway,andafterabriefkiss,he
setsmegentlydownontothehardwoodfloor.Theinteriordécorisstarkand
remindsmeofthegreatroomatEscala—allwhitewalls,darkwood,and
contemporaryabstractart.Thehallwayopensupintoalargesittingarea
wherethreeoff-whiteleathercouchessurroundastonefireplacethat
dominatestheroom.Theonlycolorisfromthesoftcushionsscatteredonthe
couches.MiagrabsEthan’shandanddragshimfartherintothehouse.
Christiannarrowshiseyesattheirdepartingfigures,hismouththinning.He
shakeshisheadthenturnstome.
Katewhistlesloudly.“Niceplace.”
IglancearoundtoseeElliothelpingTaylorwithourluggage.Iwonderagain
ifsheknowsthatGiahadahandinthisplace.
“Tour?”Christianasksme,andwhateverwasgoingthroughhismindabout
MiaandEthanhasgone.He’sradiatingexcitement—orisitanxiety?It’s
difficulttotell.
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“Sure.”OnceagainI’moverwhelmedbythewealth.Howmuchdidthisplace
cost…?AndIhavecontributednothingtoit.BrieflyI’mtransportedbackto
thefirsttimeChristiantookmetoEscala…Iwasoverwhelmedthen.Yougot
usedtoit,mysubconscioushissesatme.Christianfrownsbuttakesmyhand,
leadingmethroughthevariousrooms.Thestate-of-the-artkitchenisallpale
marblecountertopsandblackcupboards.There’sanimpressivewinecellar,
andanexpansivedendownstairs,completewithlargeplasmascreen,soft
couches…andabilliardtable.Igapeatit,andblushwhenChristiancatches
me.
“Fancyagame?”heasks,awickedgleaminhiseye.Ishakemyhead,andhis
browfurrowsoncemore.Takingmyhandagain,heleadsmeuptothefirst
floor.Therearefourbedroomsupstairs,eachwithanensuitebathroom.
Themastersuiteissomethingelse—thebedishuge,biggerthanthebedat
home,andfacesanenormouspicturewindowlookingoutoverAspenand
towardtheverdantmountains.
“That’sAjaxMountain…orAspenMountain,ifyoulike,”
Christiansays,eyeingmewarily.He’sstandinginthedoorway,histhumbs
hookedthroughthebeltloopsonhisblackjeans.Inod.
“You’reveryquiet,”hemurmurs.
“It’slovely,Christian.”AndsuddenlyI’machingtobebackatEscala.
Infivelongstrideshe’sstandinginfrontofme,reachingupandtuggingat
mychin,releasingmylowerlipfromthegripofmyteeth.
“Whatisit?”heasks,hiseyessearchingmine.
“You’reveryrich.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes,itjusttakesmebysurprise,howwealthyyouare.”
“Weare.”
“Weare,”Imutterautomatically.
“Don’tstressaboutthis,Ana,please.It’sjustahouse.”
“AndwhatdidGiadohere,exactly?”
“Gia?”Heraiseshiseyebrowsinsurprise.
“Yes.Sheremodeledthisplace?”
“Shedid.Sheputthedenindownstairs.”Herakeshishandthroughhishair
andfrownsatme.“WhyarewetalkingaboutGia?”
259|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“DidyouknowshehadaflingwithElliot?”
Christiangazesatmeforamoment,grayeyesunreadable.“Elliot’sfucked
mostofSeattle,Ana.”
Igasp.
“Mainlywomen,Iunderstand,”Christianjokes.Ithinkhe’samusedbymy
expression.
“No!”
Christiannods.“It’snoneofmybusiness.”Heholdshispalmsup.
“Idon’tthinkKateknows.”
“I’mnotsurehebroadcaststhatinformation.Kateseemstobeholdingher
own.”
I’mshocked.Sweet,unassuming,blond,blue-eyedElliot?Istareindisbelief.
Christiantiltshisheadtooneside,scrutinizingme.“Thiscan’tjustbeabout
GiaorElliot’spromiscuity.”
“Iknow.I’msorry.Afterallthat’shappenedthisweek,it’sjust…”
Ishrug,feelingtearfulallofasudden.Christianseemstosagwithrelief.
Pullingmeintohisarms,heholdsmetightly,hisnoseinmyhair.
“Iknow.I’msorry,too.Let’srelaxandenjoyourselves,okay?Youcanstay
hereandread,watchgod-awfulTV,shop,comehiking—
fishingeven.Whateveryouwanttodo.AndforgetwhatIsaidaboutElliot.
Thatwasindiscreetofme.”
“Goessomewaytoexplainwhyhe’salwaysteasingyou,”Imurmur,nuzzling
hischest.
“Hereallyhasnoideaaboutmypast.Itoldyou,myfamilyassumedIwas
gay.Celibate,butgay.”
Igiggleandbegintorelaxinhisarms.“Ithoughtyouwerecelibate.How
wrongIwas.”Iwrapmyarmsaroundhim,marvelingattheridiculousnessof
Christianbeinggay.
“Mrs.Grey,areyousmirkingatme?”
“Maybealittle,”Iacquiesce.“Youknow,whatIdon’tunderstandiswhyyou
havethisplace?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Hekissesmyhair.
“Youhavetheboat,whichIget,youhavetheplaceinNewYorkforbusiness
—butwhyhere?It’snotlikeyoushareditwithanyone.”
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Christianstills,andissilentforseveralbeats.“Iwaswaitingforyou,”hesays
softly,hiseyesdarkgrayandluminous.
“That’s…that’ssuchalovelythingtosay.”
“It’strue.Ididn’tknowitatthetime.”Hesmileshisshysmile.
“I’mgladyouwaited.”
“Youareworthwaitingfor,Mrs.Grey.”Hetipsmychinupwithhisfinger,
leansdown,andkissesmetenderly.
“Soareyou.”Ismile.“ThoughIfeelIlikeIcheated.Ididn’thavetowait
longforyouatall.”
Hegrins.“AmIthatmuchofaprize?”
“Christian,youarethestatelottery,thecureforcancer,andthethreewishes
fromAladdin’slampallrolledintoone.”
Heraisesabrow.
“Whenwillyourealizethis?”Iscoldhim.“Youwereaveryeligiblebachelor.
AndIdon’tmeanallthis.”Iwavedismissinglyatourplushsurroundings.“I
meaninhere.”Iplacemyhandoverhisheart,andhiseyeswiden.My
confident,sexyhusbandhasgone,andI’mfacingmylostboy.“Believeme,
Christian,please,”Iwhisperandreachuptoclasphisface,pullinghislipsto
mine.Hegroans,andIdon’tknowifit’sthepainofhearingwhatIhaveto
sayorhisusualprimalresponse.Iclaimhim,mylipsmovingagainsthis,my
tongueinvadinghismouth.
Whenwe’rebothbreathless,hepullsaway,eyeingmedoubtfully.
“WhenareyougoingtogetitthroughyourexceptionallythickskullthatI
loveyou?”Iask,exasperated.
Heswallows.“Oneday,”hesays.
Thisisprogress.Ismileandamrewardedwithhisansweringshysmile.
“Come.Let’shavesomelunch—theotherswillbewonderingwhereweare.
Wecandiscusswhatweallwanttodo.”
“Ohno!”Katesayssuddenly.
Alleyesturntoher.
“Look,”shesays,pointingtothepicturewindow.Outside,rainhasstarted
pouringdown.Wearesittingaroundthedarkwoodtableinthekitchen
havingconsumedanItalianfeastofamixedantipasto,prepared261|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
byMrs.Bentley,andabottleortwoofFrascati.I’mrepleteandalittlebuzzy
fromthealcohol.
“Theregoesourhike,”Elliotmutters,soundingvaguelyrelieved.Katescowls
athim.Somethingisdefinitelyupwiththem…Theyhavebeenrelaxedwith
allofusbutnotwitheachother.
“Wecouldgointotown,”Miapipesup.Ethansmirksather.
“Perfectweatherforfishing,”Christiansuggests.
“I’llgofish,”Ethansays.
“Let’ssplitup.”Miaclapsherhands.“Girls,shopping—boys,outdoorboring
stuff.”
IglanceatKate,whoregardsMiaindulgently.Fishingorshopping?
Jeez,whatachoice.
“Ana,whatdoyouwanttodo?”Christianasks.
“Idon’tmind,”Ilie.
Katecatchesmyeyeandmouths“shopping”atme,perhapsshewantstotalk.
“ButI’mmorethanhappytogoshopping.”Iadd,smilingwrylyatKateand
Mia.Christiansmirks.HeknowsIhateshopping.
“Icanstayherewithyou,ifyou’dlike,”hemurmurs,andsomethingdark
unfurlsinmybellyathistone.
“No,yougofish,”Ianswer.Christianneedsboytime.
“Soundslikeaplan,”Katesays,risingfromthetable.
“Taylorwillaccompanyyou,”Christiansays,andit’sagiven—notupfor
discussion.
“Wedon’tneedbabysitting,”Kateretortsbluntly,directasever.Iputmy
handonKate’sarm.“Kate,Taylorshouldcome.”
Shefrowns,thenshrugs,andforonceinherlifeholdshertongue.Ismile
timidlyatChristian.Hisexpressionremainsimpassive.Oh,Ihopehe’snot
madatKate.
Elliotfrowns.“Ineedtopickupabatteryformywatchintown.”
HeglancesquicklyatKate,andIspothisslightblush.Shedoesn’tnotice
becausesheispointedlyignoringhim.
“TaketheAudi,Elliot.Whenyoucomebackwecangofishing,”
Christiansays.
“Yeah!”Elliotmutters,butheseemsdistracted.“Goodplan.”
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“Inhere.”Grabbingmyhand,Miahaulsmeintoadesignerboutiquethat’sall
pinksilkandfaux-Frenchdistressedrusticfurniture.Katefollowsuswhile
Taylorwaitsoutside,shelteringundertheawningfromtherain.Arethais
beltingout“SayALittlePrayer”overthestore’shi-fisystem.Ilovethis
song.IshouldputitonChristian’siPod.
“Thiswilllookwonderfulonyou,Ana.”Miaholdsupascrapofsilver
material.“Here,tryiton.”
“Um…it’sabitshort.”
“You’lllookfantasticinit.Christianwillloveit.”
“Youthink?”
Miabeamsatme.“Ana,youhavelegstodiefor,andifwegoclubbing
tonight”—shesmiles,sensinganeasykill—“you’lllookhotforyour
husband.”
Iblinkather,slightlyshocked.We’regoingclubbing?Idon’tdoclubbing.
Katelaughsatmyexpression.Sheseemsmorerelaxednowthatshe’saway
fromElliot.“Weshouldthrowsomeshapesthisevening,”
shesays.
“Gotryiton,”Miaorders,andreluctantlyIheadforthechangingroom.
WhileIwaitforKateandMiatoemergefromthedressingroom,Istrollto
theshopwindowandlookout,unseeing,acrossthemainstreet.Thesoul
compilationcontinues:DionneWarwickissinging
“WalkOnBy.”Anothergreatsong—oneofmymother’sfavorites.Iglance
downatTheDressinmyhand.Dressisperhapsanoverstatement.It’s
backlessandveryshort,butMiahasdeclareditawinner,perfectfordancing
thenightaway.Apparently,Ineedshoes,too,andalargechunkynecklace,
whichwe’llsourcenext.Rollingmyeyes,IreflectoncemoreonhowluckyI
amtohaveCarolineActon,myownpersonalshopper.
ThroughtheboutiquewindowI’mdistractedbythesightofElliot.Hehas
appearedontheothersideoftheleafymainstreet,climbingoutofalarge
Audi.Elliotdivesintoastoreasiftoduckoutoftherain.Lookslikea
jewelrystore…maybehe’slookingforthatwatchbattery.Heemergesafew
minuteslater,andnotalone—withawoman.263|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Fuck!He’stalkingtoGia!Whatthehellisshedoinghere?
AsIwatch,theyhugbrieflyandsheholdsherheadback,laughing
animatedlyatsomethinghesays.Hekisseshercheekthenrunstothewaiting
car.Sheturnsandheadsdownthestreet,andIgapeafterher.Whatwasthat
about?Iturnanxiouslytowardthedressingrooms,butthere’sstillnosignof
KateorMia.
IglanceatTaylor,wherehe’swaitingoutsidethestore.Hecatchesmyeye
thenshrugs.He’switnessedElliot’slittleencounter,too.Iblush,embarrassed
tohavebeencaughtsnooping.Turningback,MiaandKateemerge,bothof
themlaughing.Katelooksatmequizzically.
“What’swrong,Ana?”sheasks.“Yougonecoldonthedress?Youlook
sensationalinit.”
“Um,no.”
“Areyouokay?”Kate’seyeswiden.
“I’mfine.Shallwepay?”IheadtothecashierjoiningMiawhohaschosen
twoskirts.
“Goodafternoon,ma’am.”Theyoungsalesassistant—whohasmoregloss
coatingherlipsthanIhaveeverseeninoneplace—smilesatme.“That’llbe
eighthundredandfiftydollars.”
What?Forthisscrapofmaterial!Iblinkatherandmeeklyhandovermy
blackAmex.
“Mrs.Grey,”Ms.LipGlosspurrs.
IfollowKateandMiainadazeforthenexttwohours,warringwithmyself.
ShouldItellKate?Mysubconsciousfirmlyshakesherhead.Yes,Ishouldtell
her.No,Ishouldn’t.Itcouldjusthavebeenaninnocentmeeting.Shit.What
shouldIdo?
“Well,doyouliketheshoes,Ana?”Miahasherfistsonherhips.
“Um…yeah,sure.”
IendupwithapairofunfeasiblyhighManoloBlahnikswithstrapsthatlook
liketheyaremadefrommirrors.Theymatchthedressperfectlyandset
Christianbackjustoverathousanddollars.I’mluckierwiththelongsilver
chainthatKateinsistsIbuy;it’sabargainateighty-fourdollars.
“Gettingusedtohavingmoney?”Kateasks,notunkindly,aswewalkbackto
thecar.Miahasskippedahead.
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“Youknowthisisn’tme,Kate.I’mkindofuncomfortableaboutallthis.But
I’mreliablyinformedit’spartofthepackage.”Ipursemylipsather,andshe
putsherarmaroundme.
“You’llgetusedtoit,Ana,”shesayssympathetically.“You’lllookgreat.”
“Kate,howareyouandElliotgettingalong?”Iask.Herwideblueeyesdart
tomine.
Ohno.
Sheshakesherhead.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutitnow.”Shenodstoward
Mia.“Butthingsare—”Shedoesn’tfinishhersentence.Thisisunlikemy
tenaciousKate.Shit.Iknewsomethingwasup.DoItellher?TellherwhatI
saw?WhatdidIsee?ElliotandMissWell-Groomed-Sexual-Predatortalking,
hugging,andthatkissonthecheek.Surelytheyarejustoldfriends?No,I
won’ttellher.Notrightnow.IgivehermyI-completely-understand-and-will-
respect-yourprivacynod.Shereachesformyhandandgivesitagrateful
squeeze,andthereitis—aswiftglimpseofpainandhurtinhereyesthatshe
quicklystifleswithablink.InthatmomentIfeelasurgeofprotectivenessfor
mydearfriend.WhatthefuckisElliotManwhoreGreyplayingat?
Oncebackatthehouse,Katedecideswedeservecocktailsafterourshopping
extravaganzaandwhipsupsomestrawberrydaiquirisforus.Wecurlupon
thesittingroomcouchesinfrontoftheblazinglogfire.
“Elliothasjustbeenalittledistantlately,”Katemurmurs,gazingintothe
flames.KateandIfinallyhaveamomenttoourselvesasMiaputsawayher
purchases.
“Oh?”
“IthinkI’mintroubleforgettingyouintotrouble,”sheadds.
“Youheardaboutthat?”
“Yes.ChristiancalledElliot;Elliotcalledme.”
Irollmyeyes.OhFifty,Fifty,Fifty.
“I’msorry.Christianis…protective.Youhaven’tseenElliotsince
cocktailgate?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
265|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Ireallylikehim,Ana,”shewhispers.AndforonedreadfulminuteIthink
she’sgoingtocry.Ohno…ThisisnotlikeKate.Doesthismeanthereturnof
thepinkpajamas?Sheturnstogazeatme.
“I’vefalleninlovewithhim.AtfirstIthoughtitwasjustthegreatsex.But
he’scharmingandkindandwarmandfunny.Icouldseeusgrowingold
together—youknow…kids,grandkids—theworks.”
“Yourhappyeverafter,”Iwhisper.
Shenodssadly.
“Maybeyoushouldtalktohim.Tryandfindsomealonetimehere.Findout
what’seatinghim.”
Who’seatinghim,mysubconscioussnarls.Islapherdown,shockedatthe
waywardnessofmyownthoughts.
“Perhapsyouguyscouldgoforawalktomorrowmorning?”
“We’llsee.”
“Kate,Ihateseeingyoulikethis.”
Shesmilesweakly,andIleanovertohugher.IresolvenottomentionGia,
thoughImightmentionittothemanwhorehimself.Howcanhemesswith
myfriend’saffectionslikethis?
Miareturns,andwemoveontosaferterritory.
ThefirehissesandspitssparksontothehearthasIfeeditthelastlog.We’re
almostoutofwood.Eventhoughit’ssummer,thefireisverywelcomeonthis
wetday.
“Mia,doyouknowwherethewoodforthefireiskept?”Iaskasshesipsher
daiquiri.
“Ithinkit’sinthegarage.”
“I’llgofindsome.It’llgivemeanopportunitytoexplore.”
TherainhaseasedoffwhenIventureoutsideandheadtothethreecargarage
adjoiningthehouse.ThesidedoorisunlockedandIenter,switchingonthe
lighttofightthegloom.Thefluorescentstripspingnoisilytolife.
There’sacarinthegarage,andIrealizeit’stheAudiIsawElliotinthis
afternoon.Therearealsotwosnowmobiles.Butwhatreallygrabsmy
attentionarethetwotrailbikes,both125cc.MemoriesofEthanbravely
endeavoringtoteachmehowtoridelastsummerflashthrough266|Page
ELJAMES
mymind.Unconsciously,IrubmyarmwhereIbadlybruiseditinafall.
“Youride?”Elliotasksfrombehindme.
Iwhirlaround.“You’reback.”
“Itwouldappearso.”Hegrins,andIrealizethatChristianmightsaythesame
thingtome—butwithoutthehuge,heart-meltinggrin.
“Well?”heasks.
Manwhore!
“Sortof.”
“Doyouwantago?”
Isnort.“Um,no…Idon’tthinkChristianwouldbeveryhappyifIdid.”
“Christian’snothere.”Elliotsmirks—oh,it’safamilytrait—andwaveshis
armtoindicatewe’realone.Hestrollstowardthenearestbikeandswingsa
longdenimedlegoverthesaddle,sittingastrideandgrabbingthehandlebars.
“Christianhas,um…issuesaboutmysafety.Ishouldn’t.”
“Youalwaysdowhathesays?”Elliothasawickedsparkleinhisbaby-blue
eyesandIseeaglimmerofthebadboy…thebadboyKatehasfalleninlove
with.ThebadboyfromDetroit.
“No.”Iarchanadmonishingbrowathim.“ButI’mtryingtoputthatright.
Hehasenoughtoworryaboutwithoutaddingmetothemix.Isheback?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Youdidn’tgofishing?”
Elliotshakeshishead.“Ihadsomebusinesstodealwithintown.”
Business!Holyshit—groomedblondebusiness!Iinhalesharplyandgapeat
him.
“Ifyoudon’twanttoride,whatareyoudoinginthegarage?”Elliotis
intrigued.
“I’mlookingforwoodforthefire.”
“Thereyouare.Oh,Elliot—you’reback.”Kateinterruptsus.
“Hey,baby.”Hesmilesbroadly.
“Catchanything?”
IscrutinizeElliot’sreaction.“No.Ihadafewthingstotakecareofintown.”
Andforonebriefmoment,Iseeaflashofuncertaintycrosshisface.
267|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ohshit.
“IcameouttoseewhatwaskeepingAna.”Katelooksatus,confused.
“Wewerejustshootingthebreeze,”Elliotsays,andthetensioncrackles
betweenthem.
Weallpauseaswehearacarpullupoutside.Oh!Christian’sback.Thank
heavens.Thegaragedooropenerwhirrsloudlyintoaction,startlingusall,
andthedoorslowlyliftstorevealChristianandEthanunloadingablack
flatbedtruck.Christianstopswhenheseesusallstandinginthegarage.
“Garageband?”heaskssardonicallyashewandersin,headingstraightfor
me.
Igrin.Iamrelievedtoseehim.Beneathhiswaxcoathe’swearingthe
overallsIsoldhimatClaytons.
“Hi,”hesayslookingquizzicallyatme,ignoringbothKateandElliot.
“Hi.Niceoveralls.”
“Lotsofpockets.Veryhandyforfishing.”Hisvoiceissoftandseductive,for
myearsonly,andwhenhegazesdownatmehisexpressionishot.
Iflush,andhesmilesahuge,no-holds-barred,all-for-mesmile.
“You’rewet,”Imurmur.
“Itwasraining.Whatareyouguysdoinginthegarage?”Finallyhe
acknowledgesthatwearenotalone.
“Anacametofetchsomewood,”Elliotsmirks.Somehowhemanagesto
makethatsentencesoundsmutty.“Itriedtotempthertotakearide.”Heis
masterofthedoubleentendre.
Christian’sfacefalls,andmyheartstills.
“Shesaidno.Thatyouwouldn’tlikeit,”Elliotaddskindly—andinnuendo-
free.
Christian’sgraygazeswingsbacktome.“Didshe,now?”hemurmurs.
“Listen,I’mallforstandingarounddiscussingwhatAnadidnext,butshall
wegobackinside?”Katesnaps.Shestoopsdown,snatchesuptwologs,and
turnsonherheel,stompingtowardthedoor.Ohshit.Kateismad—butI
knowit’snotatme.Elliotsighsand,withoutaword,followsherout.Igaze
afterthem,butChristiandistractsme.268|Page
ELJAMES
“Youcanrideamotorcycle?”heasks,hisvoicelacedwithdisbelief.
“Notverywell.Ethantaughtme.”
Hiseyesfrostimmediately.“Youmadetherightdecision,”hesays,hisvoice
muchcooler.“Theground’sveryhardatthemoment,andtherain’smadeit
treacherousandslippery.”
“Wheredoyouwantthefishinggear?”Ethancallsfromoutside.
“Leaveit,Ethan—Taylorwilltakecareofit.”
“Whataboutthefish?”Ethancontinues,hisvoicevaguelytaunting.
“Youcaughtafish?”Iask,surprised.
“Notme.Kavanaghdid.”AndChristianpouts…prettily.Iburstout
laughing.
“Mrs.Bentleywilldealwiththat,”hecallsback.Ethangrinsandheadsinto
thehouse.
“AmIamusingyou,Mrs.Grey?”
“Verymuchso.You’rewet…Letmerunyouabath.”
“Aslongasyoujoinme.”Heleansdownandkissesme.
Ifillthelargeegg-shapedtubintheensuitebathroomandpourinsome
expensivebathoil,whichstartstofoamimmediately.Thearomaisheavenly
…jasmine,Ithink.Backinthebedroom,IstarttohangTheDresswhilethe
bathfills.
“Didyouhaveagoodtime?”Christianasksasheenterstheroom.He’sjust
inaT-shirtandsweatpants,hisfeetbare.Heclosesthedoorbehindhim.
“Yes,”Imurmur,drinkinghimin.Ihavemissedhim.Ridiculous—
it’sonlybeenwhat,afewhours?
Hecockshisheadtoonesideandgazesatme.“Whatisit?”
“IwasthinkinghowmuchI’vemissedyou.”
“Yousoundlikeyouhaveitbad,Mrs.Grey.”
“Ihave,Mr.Grey.”
Hestrollstowardmeuntilhe’sstandinginfrontofme.“Whatdidyoubuy?”
hewhispers,andIknowit’stochangethetopicofconversation.
“Adress,someshoes,anecklace.Ispentagreatdealofyourmoney.”I
glanceupathim,guiltily.
269|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
He’samused.“Good,”hemurmurs,andhishandreachesuptotuckastray
lockofhairbehindmyear.“Andforthebillionthtime,ourmoney.”Hetugs
mychin,releasingmylipfrommyteethandrunshisindexfingerdownthe
frontofmyT-shirt,downmysternum,betweenmybreasts,downmy
stomach,andovermybellytothehem.
“Youwon’tbeneedingthisinthebath,”hewhispers,andgrippingthehemof
myT-shirtinbothhands,slowlypullsitup.“Liftyourarms.”
Icomply,nottakingmyeyesoffhis,andhedropsmyT-shirtonthefloor.
“Ithoughtwewerejusthavingabath.”Mypulsequickens.
“Iwanttomakeyougoodanddirtyfirst.I’vemissedyou,too.”Heleans
downandkissesme.
“Shit,thewater!”Istruggletositup,allpost-orgasmicanddazed.Christian
doesn’treleaseme.
“Christian,thebath!”Igazedownathimfrommypronepositionacrosshis
chest.
Helaughs.“Relax—it’sawetroom.”Herollsoverandkissesmequickly.
“I’llswitchoffthefaucet.”
Heclimbsgracefullyoffthebedandstrollsintothebathroom.Myeyes
greedilyfollowhimalltheway.Hmm…myhusband,nakedandsoontobe
wet.Myinnergoddesslicksherlipssalaciouslyandgivesmeherwell-fucked
grin.Iboundoutofbed.
Wesitatoppositeendsofthebath,whichisveryfull—sofullthatwhenever
wemove,waterlapsoverthesideandsplashestothefloor.It’sverydecadent.
EvenmoredecadentisChristianwashingmyfeet,massagingthesoles,
pullinggentlyonmytoes.Hekisseseachoneandgentlybitesmylittletoe.
“Aaah!”Ifeelit—there,inmygroin.
“Likethat?”hebreathes.
“Hmm,”Imumbleincoherently.
Hestartsmassagingagain.Oh,thisfeelsgood.Iclosemyeyes.
“IsawGiaintown,”Imurmur.
270|Page
ELJAMES
“Really?Ithinkshehasaplacehere,”hesaysdismissively.He’snot
interestedintheslightest.
“ShewaswithElliot.”
Christianstopsmassaging.Thatgothisattention.WhenIopenmyeyeshis
headisinclinedtooneside,likehedoesn’tunderstand.
“WhatdoyoumeanwithElliot?”heasks,perplexedratherthanconcerned.
IexplainwhatIsaw.
“Ana,they’rejustfriends.IthinkElliotisprettystuckonKate.”Hepauses
thenaddsmorequietly.“InfactIknowhe’sprettystuckonher.”Andhegives
mehisI-have-no-idea-whylook.
“Kateisgorgeous.”Ibristle,championingmyfriend.Hesnorts.“Stillgladit
wasyouthatfellintomyoffice.”Hekissesmybigtoe,releasesmyleftfoot
andpicksupmyright,beginningthemassageprocessagain.Hisfingersare
sostrongandsupple,Irelaxagain.IdonotwanttofightaboutKate.Iclose
myeyesandlethisfingersworktheirmagiconmyfeet.
Igapeatmyselfinthefull-lengthmirror,notrecognizingthevixenthatstares
backatme.KatehasgonealloutandplayedBarbiewithmethisevening,
stylingmyhairandmakeup.Myhairisfullandstraight,myeyesringedwith
kohl,mylipsscarletred.Ilook…hot.I’malllegs,especiallyinthehigh-
heeledManolosandmyplainlyindecentshortdress.IneedChristianto
approve,thoughIhaveahorriblefeelinghewon’tlikesomuchofmyflesh
exposed.Inviewofourententecordiale,IdecideIshouldaskhim.Ipickup
myBlackBerry,asIdoubthe’llhearmefromupstairs.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:DoesMyButtLookBigInThis?
Date:August27,201118:53MST
To:ChristianGrey
Mr.Grey
Ineedyoursartorialadvice.
Yours
271|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Mrs.Gx
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Peachy
Date:August27,201118:55MST
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
Iseriouslydoubtit.
ButIwillcomeandgiveyourbuttathoroughexaminationjusttomakesure.
Yoursinanticipation
Mr.Gx
ChristianGrey,
CEOGreyEnterprisesHoldingsandButtInspectorateInc.
AsIreadhise-mail,thebedroomdooropensandChristianfreezesonthe
threshold.Hismouthpopsopenandhiseyeswiden.Holycrap…thiscould
goeitherway.
“Well?”Iwhisper.
“Ana,youlook…Wow.”
“Youlikeit?”
“Yes,Iguessso.”He’salittlehoarse.Slowlyhestepsintotheroomand
closesthedoor.He’swearingblackjeansandawhiteshirt,butwithablack
jacket…helooksdivine.Hestalksslowlytowardme,butassoonashe
reachesme,heputshishandsonmyshouldersandturnsmearoundtoface
thefull-lengthmirror,whilehestandsbehindme.Mygazefindshisinthe
glass,thenheglancesdown,fascinatedbymynakedback.Hisfingerglides
downmyspineandreachestheedgeofmydressatthesmallofmyback,
wherepalefleshmeetssilvercloth.
“Thisisveryrevealing,”hemurmurs.
Hishandskimslower,overmybacksideanddowntomynakedthigh.He
pauses,grayeyesburningintentlyintoblue.Thenslowlyhetrailshisfingers
backuptothehemofmyskirt.
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Watchinghislongfingersmovelightly,teasinglyacrossmyskin,feelingthe
tinglestheyleaveintheirwake,mymouthformsaperfectO.
“It’snotfarfromhere.”Hetouchesthehem,thenmoveshisfingershigher.
“Tohere,”hewhispers.Igaspashisfingersstrokemysex,moving
tantalizinglyovermypanties,feelingme,teasingme.
“Andyourpointis?”Iwhisper.
“Mypointis…it’snotfarfromhere”—hisfingersglideovermypanties,
thenoneisinside,againstmysoftdampenedflesh—“tohere.Andthen…to
here.”Heslipsafingerinsideme.Igaspandmakeasoftmewlingsound.
“Thisismine,”hemurmursinmyear.Closinghiseyeshemoveshisfinger
slowlyinandoutofme.“Idon’twantanyoneelsetoseethis.”
Mybreathstutters,mypantingmatchingtherhythmofhisfinger.Watching
himinthemirror,doingthis…it’sbeyonderotic.
“Sobeagoodgirlanddon’tbenddown,andyoushouldbefine.”
“Youapprove?”Iwhisper.
“No,butI’mnotgoingtostopyouwearingit.Youlookstunning,Anastasia.”
Abruptlyhewithdrawshisfinger,leavingmewantingmore,andhemoves
aroundtofaceme.Heplacesthetipofhisinvadingfingeronmylowerlip.
Instinctively,Ipuckermylipsandkissit,andI’mrewardedwithawicked
grin.HeputshisfingerinhismouthandhisexpressioninformsmethatI
tastegood…realgood.Iflush.Willitalwaysshockmewhenhedoesthat?
Hegraspsmyhand.
“Come,”heorderssoftly.IwanttoretortthatIwasaboutto,butinlightof
whathappenedintheplayroomyesterday,Idecideagainstit.
Wearewaitingfordessertinaplush,exclusiverestaurantintown.It’sbeena
livelyeveningsofar,andMiaisdetermineditshouldcontinueandthatwe
mustgoclubbing.Rightnowshe’ssittingsilently—foronce—hangingon
Ethan’severywordasheandChristiantalk.Miaisobviouslyinfatuatedwith
Ethan,andEthanis…wellit’sdifficulttotell.Idon’tknowiftheyarejust
friendsorifthere’ssomethingmore.273|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christianseemsatease.He’sbeentalkinganimatedlywithEthan—
theyobviouslybondedoverthefly-fishing.They’retalkingaboutpsychology,
mainly.Ironically,it’sChristianwhosoundsthemoreknowledgeable.Isnort
softlyasIhalflistentotheirconversation,sadlyacknowledgingthathis
expertiseistheresultofhisexperiencewithsomanyshrinks.
You’rethebesttherapy.Hiswords,whisperedwhileweweremakinglove
once,echoinmyhead.AmI?Oh,Christian,Ihopeso.IglanceoveratKate.
Shelooksbeautiful,butthenshealwaysdoes.SheandElliotarelesslively.
Heseemsnervous,hisjokesalittletooloudandhislaughalittleoff.Have
theyhadafight?What’seatinghim?Isitthatwoman?Myheartsinksatthe
thoughtthathemighthurtmybestfriend.Iglanceattheentrance,half
expectingtoseeGiacalmlysaunterherwell-groomedassacrossthe
restauranttous.Mymindisplayingtricks—Isuspectit’stheamountof
alcoholI’vehad.Myheadisbeginningtoache.
Abruptly,Elliotstartlesusallbystandingandpullinghischairbacksoit
scrapesacrossthetilefloor.Alleyesturntohim.HegazesdownatKatefor
onemomentthendropstoonekneebesideher.Oh.My.God.
Hereachesforherhand,andsilencesettleslikeablanketovertheentire
restaurantaseveryonestopseating,stopstalking,stopswalking,andstares.
“MybeautifulKate,Iloveyou.Yourgrace,yourbeauty,andyourfieryspirit
havenoequal,andyouhavecapturedmyheart.Spendyourlifewithme.
Marryme.”
Holyshit!
274|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterFourteen
TheattentionoftheentirerestaurantistrainedonKateandElliot,waitingas
onewithbatedbreath.Theanticipationisunbearable.Silencestretcheslikea
tautrubberband.Theatmosphereisoppressive,apprehensiveandyethopeful
throughouttheroom.
KatestaresblanklyatElliotashegazesupather,hiseyeswidewithlonging
—feareven.Holycrap,Kate!Puthimoutofhismisery.Please.Jeez—he
couldhaveaskedherprivately.Asingleteartricklesdownhercheek,though
sheremainsexpressionless.Shit!Katecrying?Thenshesmiles,aslow
disbelievingI-think-I’ve-discovered-the-fabled-lost-city-of-El-Doradosmile.
“Yes,”shewhispers,abreathy,sweetacceptance—notKate-likeatall.For
onenanosecondthere’sapauseastheentirerestaurantexhalesacollective
sighofrelief—andthenthenoiseisdeafening.Spontaneousapplause,
cheering,catcalls,whooping—andsuddenlyIhavetearsrollingdownmy
face,smudgingmyBarbie-meets-Joan-Jettmakeup.
Oblivioustothecommotionaroundthem,thetwoarelockedintheirown
bubble.FromhispocketElliotproducesasmallbox,opensitandpresentsit
toKate.Aring…andfromwhatIcansee,anexquisitering,butIneeda
closerlook.Ohno—IsthatwhathewasdoingwithGia?Choosingaring?
Shit!Oh,I’msogladIdidn’ttellKate.KatelooksfromtheringtoElliotthen
throwsherarmsaroundhisneck.Theykiss,remarkablychasteforthem,and
thecrowdgoeswild.Elliotstandsandacknowledgestheapprobationwitha
surprisinglygracefulbowthen,wearingahugeself-satisfiedgrin,sitsback
down.Ican’ttakemyeyesoffthem.Takingtheringoutofitsbox,Elliot
gentlyslidesitontoKate’sfinger,andtheykissoncemore.Christian
squeezesmyhand—Ididn’trealizeI’dbeengrippinghissotightly.Irelease
him,alittleembarrassed,andheshakeshishand,mouthing,“Ow.”
“Sorry.Didyouknowaboutthis?”Iwhisper.
275|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christiansmiles,andIknowthathedid.Hesummonsthewaiter.
“TwobottlesoftheCristalplease.The2002ifyouhaveit.”
Ismirkathim.
“What?”heasks.
“Becausethe2002issomuchbetterthanthe2003,”Itease.Helaughs.“To
thediscerningpalate,Anastasia.”
“Youhaveaverydiscerningpalate,Mr.Grey,andsingulartastes.”Ismile.
“ThatIdo,Mrs.Grey.”Heleansinclose.“Youtastebest,”hewhispers,and
hekissesacertainspotbehindmyear,sendinglittleshiversdownmyspine.I
blushscarletandfondlyrememberhisearlierdemonstrationofthequite
literalshortcomingsofmydress.MiaisthefirstuptohugKateandElliot,
andwealltaketurnscongratulatingthehappycouple.IclutchKateinafierce
hug.
“See?Hewasjustworriedabouthisproposal,”Iwhisper.
“Oh,Ana.”Shegiggle-sobs.
“Kate,Iamsohappyforyou.Congratulations.”
Christianisbehindme.HeshakesElliot’shand,then—surprisingbothElliot
andme—pullshimintoahug.Icanonlyjustcatchwhathesays.
“Waytogo,Lelliot,”hemurmurs.Elliotsaysnothing—foroncestunnedinto
silence—thencautiouslyreturnshisbrother’shug.Lelliot?
“Thanks,Christian,”Elliotchokesout.
ChristiangivesKateabrief,ifawkward,almostarm’s-lengthhug.Iknowthat
Christian’sattitudetoKateistolerant,atbest,andambivalentmostofthe
time,sothisisprogress.Releasingher,hesayssoquietlyonlysheandIcan
hear,“IhopeyouareashappyinyourmarriageasIaminmine.”
“Thankyou,Christian.Ihopeso,too,”shesaysgraciously.Thewaiterhas
returnedwiththechampagne,whichheproceedstoopenwithanunderstated
flourish.
Christianholdshischampagneflutealoft.
“ToKateandmydearbrother,Elliot—congratulations.”
Weallsip,well,Iglug.Hmmm—Cristaltastessogood,andI’mremindedof
thefirsttimeIdrankitatChristian’sclubandlater,oureventfulelevator
journeytothefirstfloor.
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Christianfrownsatme.“Whatareyouthinkingabout?”hewhispers.
“ThefirsttimeIdrankthischampagne.”
Hisfrownbecomesmorequizzical.
“Wewereatyourclub.”Iprompt.
Hegrins.“Ohyes.Iremember.”Hewinksatme.
“Elliot,haveyousetadate?”Miapipesup.
Elliotgiveshissisteranexasperatedstare.“I’veonlyjustaskedKate,sowe’ll
getbacktoyouonthat,’kay?”
“Oh,makeitaChristmaswedding.Thatwouldbesoromantic,andyou’d
havenotroublerememberingyouranniversary.”Miaclapsherhands.
“I’lltakethatunderadvisement,”Elliotsmirksather.
“Afterthechampagne,pleasecanwegoclubbing?”Miaturnsandgives
Christianherbiggest,brown-eyedlook.
“IthinkweshouldaskElliotandKatewhatthey’dliketodo.”
Asone,weturnexpectantlytothem.ElliotshrugsandKateturnspuce.Her
carnalintenttowardherfiancéissoclearInearlyspitfourhundred-dollar
champagnealloverthetable.
ZaxisthemostexclusivenightclubinAspen—orsosaysMia.Christian
strolls,hisarmwrappedaroundmywaist,tothefrontoftheshortlineandis
immediatelygrantedaccess.Iwonderbrieflyifheownstheplace.Iglanceat
mywatch—eleventhirtyintheevening,andI’mfeelingfuzzy.Thetwo
glassesofchampagneandseveralglassesofPouilly-Fuméduringourmeal
arestartingtohaveaneffect,andI’mgratefulChristianhashisarmaround
me.
“Mr.Grey,welcomeback,”saysaveryattractive,leggyblondeinblacksatin
hotpants,matchingsleevelessshirt,andalittleredbowtie.Shesmiles
broadly,revealingperfectall-Americanteethbetweenscarletlipsthatmatch
herbowtie.“Maxwilltakeyourcoat.”
Ayoungmandressedentirelyinblack,fortunatelynotsatin,smilesashe
offerstotakemycoat.Hisdarkeyesarewarmandinviting.Iamtheonlyone
wearingacoat—ChristianinsistedItakeMia’strenchcoattocovermy
behind—soMaxonlyhastodealwithme.
“Nicecoat,”hesays,gazingatmeintently.
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FiftyShadesFreed
BesidemeChristianbristlesandfixesMaxwithaback-off-nowglare.He
reddensandquicklyhandsChristianmycoatcheckticket.
“Letmeshowyoutoyourtable.”MissSatinHotPantsfluttershereyelashes
atmyhusband,flicksherlongblondhair,andsashaysthroughtheentryway.I
tightenmygriparoundChristian,andhegazesdownatmequestioninglyfor
amoment,thensmirksaswefollowMissSatinHotPantsintothebar.
Thelightingismuted,thewallsareblack,Ithink,andthefurnishingsdeep
red.ThereareboothsflankingtwosidesofthewallsandalargeU-shapedbar
inthemiddle.It’sbusy,giventhatwe’rehereoff-season,butnottoocrowded
withthewell-heeledofAspenoutforagoodtimeonaSaturdaynight.The
dresscodeisrelaxed,andforthefirsttimeIfeelalittleover…um,
underdressed.I’mnotsurewhich.Thefloorandwallsvibratewiththemusic
pulsingfromthedancefloorbehindthebarandlightsarewhirlingand
flashingonandoff.InmyheadystateIidlythinkit’sanepileptic’s
nightmare.SatinHotPantsleadsustoacornerbooththat’sbeenropedoff.
It’snearthebarwithaccesstothedancefloor.Clearlythebestseatsinthe
house.
“There’llbesomeonealongtotakeyourordershortly.”Shegivesusherfull
megawattsmileand,withafinalflutterofeyelashesatmyhusband,sashays
backfromwhereshecame.Miaisalreadyjiggingfromfoottofoot,itchingto
getontothedancefloor,andEthantakespityonher.
“Champagne?”Christianasksastheyheadoffhandinhandtowardthedance
floor.Ethangiveshimathumbs-upandMianodsenthusiastically.
KateandElliotsitbackonthesoftvelvetseating,handinhand.Theylookso
happy,theirfeaturessoftandradiantintheglowfromthetealightsflickering
incrystalholdersonthelowtable.Christiangesturesformetosit,andIscoot
inbesideKate.Hetakesaseatbesidemeandanxiouslyscanstheroom.
“Showmeyourring.”Iraisemyvoiceoverthemusic.Iwillbehoarsebythe
timeweleave.Katebeamsatmeandholdsupherhand.Theringisexquisite
—asinglesolitaireinafineelaborateclawwithtinydiamondsoneitherside.
IthasaretroVictorianlooktoit.
“It’sbeautiful.”
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Shenodsindelightand,reachingover,squeezesElliot’sthigh.Heleansdown
andkissesher.
“Getaroom,”Icallout.
Elliotgrins.
Ayoungwomanwithshortdarkhairandamischievoussmile,wearing
regulation,blacksatin,hotpants,comestotakeourorder.
“Whatdoyouwanttodrink?”Christianasks.
“You’renotpickingupthetabforthis,too,”Elliotgrumbles.
“Don’tstartthatshit,Elliot,”Christiansaysmildly.Despitetheobjectionsof
Kate,ElliotandEthan,Christianhaspaidforthemealwejustconsumed.He
simplywavedthemasideandwouldnothearofanyoneelsepaying.Igazeat
himlovingly.MyFiftyShades…alwaysincontrol.
Elliotopenshismouthtosaysomethingbut,wiselyperhaps,closesitagain.
“I’llhaveabeer,”hesays.
“Kate?”Christianasks.
“Morechampagne,please.TheCristalisdelicious.ButI’msureEthanwould
preferabeer.”Shesmilessweetly—yes,sweetly—atChristian.Sheis
incandescentwithhappiness.Ifeelitradiatingoffher,andit’sapleasureto
baskinherjoy.
“Ana?”
“Champagne,please.”
“BottleofCristal,threePeronis,andabottleoficedmineralwater,six
glasses,”hesaysinhisusualauthoritative,no-nonsensemanner.It’skinda
hot.
“Thankyou,sir.Comingrightup.”MissHotPantsNumberTwogiveshima
gracioussmile,buthe’ssparedtheflutteringofeyelashesthoughhercheeks
reddenalittle.
Ishakemyheadinresignation.He’smine,girlfriend.
“What?”heasksme.
“Shedidn’tflutterhereyelashesatyou.”Ismirk.Heblinksatme.“Oh.Was
shesupposedto?”heasks,andIcantellhe’samused.
“Womenusuallydo.”Mytoneisironic.
Hegrins.“Mrs.Grey,areyoujealous?”
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“Notintheslightest.”Ipoutathim.AndIrealizeinthatmomentthatIam
beginningtotoleratewomenoglingmyhusband.Almost.Christianclaspsmy
handandkissesmyknuckles.
“Youhavenothingtobejealousof,Mrs.Grey,”hemurmursclosetomyear,
hisbreathticklingme.
“Iknow.”
“Good.”
Thewaitressreturns,andmomentslaterI’msippinganotherglassof
champagne.
“Here.”Christianhandsmeaglassofwater.“Drinkthis.”
Ifrownathimandsee,ratherthanhear,hissigh.
“Threeglassesofwhitewineatdinnerandtwoofchampagne,aftera
strawberrydaiquiriandtwoglassesofFrascatiatlunchtime.Drink.Now,
Ana.”
Howdoesheknowaboutthecocktailsthisafternoon?Iscowlathim.But
actuallyhedoeshaveapoint.Takingtheglassofwater,Idownitinamost
unladylikemannertoregistermyprotestatbeingtoldwhattodo…again.I
wipemyhandacrossthebackofmymouth.
“Goodgirl,”hesays,smirking.“You’vevomitedonmeoncealready.Idon’t
wishtoexperiencethatagaininahurry.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’recomplainingabout.Yougottosleepwithme.”
Hesmilesandhiseyessoften.“Yeah,Idid.”
EthanandMiaareback.
“Ethan’shadenough,fornow.Comeon,girls—let’shitthefloor.Strikea
pose,throwsomeshapes,workoffthecaloriesfromthechocolatemousse.”
Katestandsimmediately.“Coming?”sheasksElliot.
“Letmewatchyou,”hesays.AndIhavetolookawayquickly,blushingat
thelookhegivesher.ShegrinsasIstand.
“I’mgoingtoburnsomecalories,”Isay,andleaningdownIwhisperin
Christian’sear,“Youcanwatchme.”
“Don’tbendover,”hegrowls.
“Okay.”Istandabruptly.Whoa!HeadrushandIclutchChristian’sshoulder
astheroomshiftsandtiltsalittle.
“Perhapsyoushouldhavesomemorewater,”Christianmurmurs,awarning
clearinhisvoice.
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“I’mfine.Theseseatsarelowandmyheelsarehigh.”
Katetakesmyhand,andtakingadeepbreathIfollowherandMia,perfectly
poised,ontothedancefloor.
Themusicispulsing,atechnobeatwithathumpingbassline.Thedance
floorisn’tcrowded,whichmeanswehavesomespace.Themixiseclectic—
youngandoldalikedancingthenightaway.Ihaveneverbeenagooddancer.
Infact,it’sonlysinceI’vebeenwithChristianthatIdanceatall.Katehugs
me.
“I’msohappy,”sheshoutsoverthemusic,andshestartstodance.Miais
doingwhatMiadoes,grinningatthepairofus,throwingherselfaround.Jeez,
she’stakingupalotofroomonthedancefloor.Iglancebacktowardthe
table.Ourmenarewatchingus.Istarttomove.It’sapulsingrhythm.Iclose
myeyesandsurrendertoit.Iopenmyeyestofindthedancefloorfillingup.
Kate,MiaandIareforcedclosertogether.AndtomysurpriseIfindI’m
actuallyenjoyingmyself.Ibegintomovealittlemore…alittlemore
bravely.Kategivesmetwothumbsup,andIbeambackather.
Iclosemyeyes.WhydidIspendthefirsttwentyyearsofmylifenotdoing
this?Ichosereadingoverdancing.JaneAustendidn’thavegreatmusicto
movetoandThomasHardy…jeez,he’dhavefeltguiltyassinthathewasn’t
dancingwithhisfirstwife.Igiggleatthethought.
It’sChristian.ChristianhasgivenmethisconfidenceinmybodyandhowI
canmoveit.
Suddenly,therearetwohandsonmyhips.Igrin.Christianhasjoinedme.I
wiggle,andhishandsmovetomybehindandsqueeze,thenbacktomyhips.
Iopenmyeyes.AndMiaisgapingatmeinhorror.Shit…AmIthatbad?I
reachdowntoholdChristian’shands.They’rehairy.Fuck!
They’renothis.Iwhirlaround,andtoweringovermeisablondgiantwith
moreteeththanisnaturalandaleeringsmiletoshowcasethem.
“Getyourhandsoffme!”Iscreamoverthepoundingmusic,apoplecticwith
rage.
“Comeon,sugar,it’sjustsomefun.”Hesmiles,holdinghisapelikehandsup,
hisblueeyesgleamingunderthepulsingultravioletlights.BeforeIknow
whatI’mdoing,Islaphimhardaroundtheface.281|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ow!Shit…myhand.Itstings.“Getawayfromme!”Ishout.Hegazesdown
atme,cuppinghisredcheek.Ithrustmyuninjuredhandinfrontofhisface,
spreadingmyfingerstoshowhimmyrings.
“I’mmarried,youasshole!”
Heshrugsratherarrogantlyandgivesmeahalfhearted,apologeticsmile.
Iglancearoundfrantically.Miaisatmyright,glaringatBlondGiant.Kateis
lostinthemomentdoingherthing.Christianisnotatthetable.Oh,Ihope
he’sgonetotherestroom.Istepback—ohshit—intoafrontIknowwell.
Christianputshisarmaroundmywaistandmovesmetohisside.
“Keepyourfuckinghandsoffmywife,”hesays.He’snotshouting,but
somehowhecanbeheardoverthemusic.
Holyshit!
“Shecantakecareofherself,”BlondGiantshouts.Hishandmovesfromhis
cheekwhereI’veslappedhim,andChristianhitshim.It’slikeI’mwatchingit
inslowmotion.Aperfectlytimedpunchtothechinthatmovesatsuchspeed,
butwithsolittlewastedenergy,BlondGiantdoesn’tseeitcoming.He
crumplestothefloorlikethescumbagheis.Fuck.
“Christian,no!”Igaspinpanic,standinginfrontofhimtoholdhimback.
Shit,he’llkillhim.“Ialreadyhithim,”Ishoutoverthemusic.Christian
doesn’tlookatme.He’sglaringatmyassailantwithamalevolenceI’venot
seenbeforeflaringinhiseyes.Well,maybeoncebefore—outsideSIPafter
JackHyde’spassatme.
Theotherdancersmoveoutwardlikearippleinapond,clearingspace
aroundus,keepingasafedistance.BlondGiantscramblestohisfeetasElliot
joinsus.
Ohno!Kateiswithme,gapingatallofus.ElliotgraspsChristian’sarmas
Ethanappears,too.
“Takeiteasy,okay?Didn’tmeananyharm.”BlondGiantholdshishandsup
indefeat,beatingahastyretreat.Christian’seyesfollowhimoffthedance
floor.Hedoesnotlookatme.
Thesongchangesfromtheexplicitlyricsof“SexyBitch”toapulsingtechno
dancenumberwhereawomansingswithanimpassionedvoice.Elliotlooks
downatme,thenacrossatChristian,andreleasingChristian,pullsKateintoa
dance.Iputmyarmsaround282|Page
ELJAMES
Christian’sneckuntilhefinallymakeseyecontact,hiseyesstillblazing—
primalandferal,aglimpseofabrawlingadolescent.Holyshit.Hescrutinizes
myface.Whatishethinking?
“Areyouokay?”heasksfinally.
“Yes.”Irubmypalm,tryingtodispelthesting,andbringmyhandsdownto
hischest.Myhandisthrobbing.Ihaveneverslappedanyonebefore.What
possessedme?Touchingmewasn’ttheworstcrimeagainsthumanity.Wasit?
YetdeepdownIknowwhyIhithim.It’sbecauseIinstinctivelyknewhow
Christianwouldreactseeingsomestrangerpawingme.Iknewhe’dlosehis
preciousself-control.Andthethoughtthatsomestupidnobodycouldderail
myhusband,mylove,well,itmakesmemad.Reallymad.
“Doyouwanttositdown?”Christianasksoverthepulsingbeat.Oh,come
backtome,please.
“No.Dancewithme.”
Hegazesdownatmeimpassively,sayingnothing.
Touchme…thewomansings.
“Dancewithme.”He’sstillmad.“Dance.Christian,please.”Itakehishands.
Christianglaresaftertheguy,butIstarttomoveagainsthim,weavingmyself
aroundhim.
Thethrongofdancershascircledusoncemore,althoughthere’snowatwo-
footexclusionzonearoundus.
“Youhithim?”Christianasks,standingstock-still.Itakehisfistedhands.
“OfcourseIdid.Ithoughtitwasyou,buthishandswerehairier.Please
dancewithme.”
AsChristiangazesatmethefireinhiseyesslowlychanges,evolvesinto
somethingelse,somethingdarker,somethinghotter.Suddenly,hegrabsmy
wristsandpullsmeflushagainsthim,pinningmyhandsbehindmyback.
“Youwannadance?Let’sdance,”hegrowlsclosetomyear,andasherolls
hishipsaroundintome,Icandonothingbutfollow,hishandsholdingmine
againstmybackside.
Oh…Christiancanmove,reallymove.Hekeepsmeclose,notlettingmego,
buthishandsgraduallyrelaxonmine,freeingme.Myhandscreeparound,up
hisarms,feelinghisbunchedmusclesthrough283|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
hisjacket,uptohisshoulders.Hepressesmeagainsthim,andIfollowhis
movesasheslowly,sensuallydanceswithmeintimetothepulsingbeatof
theclubmusic.
Themomenthegrabsmyhandandspinsmefirstoneway,thentheother,I
knowhe’sbackwithme.Igrin.Hegrins.
Wedancetogetherandit’sliberating—fun.Hisangerforgotten,or
suppressed,hewhirlsmearoundwithconsummateskillinoursmallspaceon
thedancefloor,neverlettinggo.Hemakesmegraceful,that’shisskill.He
makesmesexy,becausethat’swhatheis.Hemakesmefeelloved,becausein
spiteofhisfiftyshades,hehasawealthoflovetogive.Watchinghimnow,
enjoyinghimself…onecouldbeforgivenforthinkinghedoesn’thaveacare
intheworld.ButIknowhisloveiscloudedwithissuesofoverprotectiveness
andcontrol,butitdoesn’tmakemelovehimanyless.
Iambreathlesswhenthesongmorphstoanother.
“Canwesit?”Igasp.
“Sure.”Heleadsmeoffthedancefloor.
“You’vemademeratherhotandsweaty,”Iwhisperaswereturntothetable.
Hepullsmeintohisarms.“Ilikeyouhotandsweaty.ThoughIpreferto
makeyouhotandsweatyinprivate,”hepurrs,andalascivioussmiletugsat
hislips.
AsIsit,it’sasiftheincidentonthedancefloorneverhappened.I’mvaguely
surprisedwehaven’tbeenthrownout.Iglancearoundthebar.Nooneis
lookingatus,andIcan’tseeBlondGiant.Maybeheleft,ormaybehe’sbeen
thrownout.KateandElliotarebeingindecentonthedancefloor,Ethanand
Mialessso.Itakeanothersipofchampagne.
“Here.”Christianputsanotherglassofwaterbeforemeandregardsme
intently.Hisexpressionisexpectant—drinkit.Drinkitnow.IdoasI’mtold.
Besides,I’mthirsty.
Reachingover,heliftsabottleofPeronifromtheicebucketonthetableand
takesalongdrink.
“Whatiftherehadbeenpresshere?”Iask.
ChristianknowsimmediatelythatI’mreferringtohimknockingBlonde
Giantonhisass.
284|Page
ELJAMES
“Ihaveexpensivelawyers,”hesayscoolly,allatoncearrogancepersonified.
Ifrownathim.“Butyou’renotabovethelaw,Christian.Ididhavethe
situationundercontrol.”
Hiseyesfrost.“Noonetoucheswhat’smine,”hesayswithchillingfinality,
asifI’mmissingtheobvious.Oh…Itakeanothersipofmychampagne.All
ofasuddenIfeeloverwhelmed.Themusicisloud,pounding,myheadand
feetareaching,andIfeelwoozy.Hegraspsmyhand.“Come,let’sgo.Iwant
togetyouhome,”hesays.KateandElliotjoinus.
“Yougoing?”Kateasksandhervoiceishopeful.
“Yes,”Christiansays.
“Good,we’llcomewithyou.”
AswewaitatthecoatcheckforChristiantoretrievemytrenchcoat,Kate
quizzesme.
“Whathappenedwiththatguyonthedancefloor?”
“Hewasfeelingmeup.”
“Iopenedmyeyesandyou’dhithim.”
Ishrug.“Well,IknewChristianwouldgothermonuclear,andthatcould
potentiallyruinyourevening.”Ihaven’treallyprocessedhowIfeelabout
Christian’sbehavior.Iwasworriedthatitwouldbeworse.
“Ourevening,”sheclarifies.“Heisratherhot-headed,isn’the?”
Kateaddsdryly,staringatChristianashecollectsmycoat.Isnortandsmile.
“Youcouldsaythat.”
“Ithinkyouhandlehimwell.”
“Handle?”Ifrown.DoIhandleChristian?
“Here.”ChristianholdsmycoatopenformesothatIcanputiton.
“Wakeup,Ana.”Christianisshakingmegently.We’vearrivedbackatthe
house.ReluctantlyIopenmyeyesandstaggerfromtheminivan.Kateand
Elliothavedisappeared,andTaylorisstandingpatientlybesidethevehicle.
“DoIneedtocarryyou?”Christianasks.
Ishakemyhead.
285|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’llfetchMissGreyandMr.Kavanagh,”Taylorsays.Christiannodsthen
leadsmetothefrontdoor.Myfeetarethrobbing,andIstumbleafterhim.At
thefrontdoorhebendsdown,graspsmyankle,andgentlypriesofffirstone
shoe,thentheother.Oh,therelief.Hestraightensandgazesdownatme,
holdingmyManolos.
“Better?”heasks,amused.
Inod.
“Ihaddelightfulvisionsofthesearoundmyears,”hemurmurs,staringdown
wistfullyatmyshoes.Heshakeshisheadand,takingmyhandoncemore,
leadsmethroughthedarkenedhouse,andupthestairstoourbedroom.
“You’rewrecked,aren’tyou?”hesayssoftly,staringdownatme.Inod.He
startstounbucklethebeltonmytrenchcoat.
“I’lldoit,”Imutter,makingahalfheartedattempttobrushhimoff.
“Letme.”
Isigh.IhadnoideaIwasthistired.
“It’sthealtitude.You’renotusedtoit.Andthedrinking,ofcourse.”He
smirksanddivestsmeofmycoatandthrowsitononeofthebedroomchairs.
Takingmyhand,heleadsmeintothebathroom.What?Whyarewegoingin
here?
“Sit,”hesays.
Isitonthechairandclosemyeyes.Ihearhimmessingaroundwithbottles
onthevanityunit.Iamtootiredtoopenmyeyestofindoutwhathe’sdoing.
Amomentlaterhetipsmyheadback.NowIopenmyeyes,insurprise.
“Eyesclosed,”Christiansays.Holycrap,he’sholdingacottonball!
Gently,hewipesitovermyrighteye.Isitstunnedashemethodically
removesmymakeup.
“Ah.There’sthewomanImarried,”hesaysafterafewwipes.
“Youdon’tlikemakeup?”
“Ilikeitwellenough,butIpreferwhat’sbeneathit.”Hekissesmyforehead.
“Here.Takethese.”HeputssomeAdvilintomypalmandhandsmeaglass
ofwater.
Ilookupathim,pouting.
“Takethem,”heorders.
Irollmyeyes,butdoasI’mtold.
“Good.Doyouneedaprivatemoment?”heaskssardonically.286|Page
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Isnort.“Socoy,Mr.Grey.Yes,Ineedtopee.”
Helaughs.“Youexpectmetoleave?”
Igiggle.“Youwanttostay?”
Hecockshisheadtooneside,hisexpressionamused.
“Youareonekinkysonofabitch.Out.Idon’twantyoutowatchmepee.
That’sasteptoofar.”Istandandwavehimoutofthebathroom.
WhenIemergefromthebathroom,he’schangedintohispajamabottoms.
Hmm…ChristianinPJs.Igazemesmerizedathisabdomen,hismuscles,his
happytrail.It’sdistracting.Hestridesovertome.
“Enjoyingtheview?”heaskswryly.
“Always.”
“Ithinkyou’reslightlydrunk,Mrs.Grey.”
“Ithink,foronce,Ihavetoagreewithyou,Mr.Grey.”
“Letmehelpyououtofwhatlittlethereisofthisdress.Itreallyshouldcome
withahealthwarning.”Heturnsmearoundandundoesthesinglebuttonat
theneck.
“Youweresomad,”Imurmur.
“Yes.Iwas.”
“Atme?”
“No.Notatyou.”Hekissesmyshoulder.“Foronce.”
Ismile.Notmadatme.Thisisprogress.“Makesanicechange.”
“Yes.Itdoes.”Hekissesmyothershoulderthentugsmydressdownovermy
backsideandontothefloor.Heremovesmypantiesatthesametime,leaving
menaked.Reachingup,hetakesmyhand.
“Step,”hecommands,andIstepoutofthedress,holdinghishandfor
balance.
Hestands,andmydressandpantiesjoinMia’strenchcoatonthechair.
“Armsup,”hesayssoftly.HeslipshisT-shirtovermeandpullsitdown,
coveringmeup.Iamreadyforbed.
Hepullsmeintohisarmsandkissesme,mymintybreathminglingwithhis.
“AsmuchasI’dlovetoburymyselfinyou,Mrs.Grey—you’vehadtoo
muchtodrink,you’reatnearlyeightthousandfeet,andyoudidn’t287|Pag
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sleepwellyesterday.Come.Getintobed.”HepullsbacktheduvetandI
climbin.Hecoversmeupandkissesmyforeheadoncemore.
“Closeyoureyes.WhenIcomebacktobed,I’llexpectyoutobeasleep.”It’s
athreat,acommand…it’sChristian.
“Don’tgo,”Iplead.
“Ihavesomecallstomake,Ana.”
“It’sSaturday.It’slate.Please.”
Herunshishandsthroughhishair.“Ana,ifIcometobedwithyounow,you
won’tgetanyrest.Sleep.”He’sadamant.Iclosemyeyesandhislipsbrush
myforeheadoncemore.
“Goodnight,baby,”hebreathes.
Imagesofthedayflashthroughmymind…Christianhaulingmeoverhis
shoulderintheplane.HisanxietyastowhetherornotI’dlikethehouse.
Makinglovethisafternoon.Thebath.Hisreactiontomydress.Decking
BlondGiant—mypalmtinglesatthememory.AndthenChristianputtingme
tobed.
Whowouldhavethought?Igrinwidely,thewordprogressrunningaround
mybrainasIdrift.
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ELJAMES
ChapterFifteen
Iamtoowarm.Christianwarm.Hisheadisonmyshoulder,andhe’s
breathingsoftlyonmyneckwhilehesleeps,hislegsthreadedthroughmine,
hisarmaroundmywaist.Ilingerontheedgeofconsciousness,awarethatifI
wakefullyI’llwakehim,too,andhedoesn’tsleepenough.Hazilymymind
wandersthroughtheeventsofyesterdayevening.Idranktoomuch—boydid
Idrinktoomuch.I’mamazedChristianletme.IsmileasIrememberhim
puttingmetobed.Thatwassweet,realsweet,andunexpected.Iconducta
quickmentalinventoryofhowI’mfeeling.Stomach?Fine.Head?
Surprisingly,fine,butfuzzy.Mypalmisstillredfromlastnight.Sheesh.Idly
IthinkaboutChristian’spalmswhenhe’sspankedme.Isquirmandhewakes.
“What’swrong?”Sleepygrayeyessearchmine.
“Nothing.Goodmorning.”Irunthefingersofmyuninjuredhandthroughhis
hair.
“Mrs.Grey,youlooklovelythismorning,”hesays,kissingmycheek,andI
lightupfromwithin.
“Thankyoufortakingcareofmelastnight.”
“Iliketakingcareofyou.It’swhatIwanttodo,”hesaysquietly,buthiseyes
betrayhimastriumphflaresintheirgraydepths.It’slikehe’swontheWorld
SeriesortheSuperBowl.
Oh,myFifty.
“Youmakemefeelcherished.”
“That’sbecauseyouare,”hemurmursandmyheartclenches.Hereachesup
toclaspmyhand.
Iwince.Christianreleasesmeimmediately,alarmed.“Thepunch?”
heasks.Hiseyesfrostashescrutinizesmine,andhisvoiceislacedwith
suddenanger.
“Islappedhim.Ididn’tpunchhim.”
“Thatfucker!”
Ithoughtwe’ddealtwiththislastnight.
“Ican’tbearthathetouchedyou.”
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Hedidn’thurtme,hewasjustinappropriate.Christian,I’mokay.Myhand’s
alittlered,that’sall.Surelyyouknowwhatthat’slike?”Ismirk,andhis
expressionchangestooneofamusedsurprise.
“Why,Mrs.Grey,Iamveryfamiliarwiththat.”Hislipstwistinamusement.
“Icouldreacquaintmyselfwiththatfeelingthisminute,shouldyousowish.”
“Oh,stowyourtwitchingpalm,Mr.Grey.”Istrokehisfacewiththeinjured
hand,myfingerscaressinghissideburn.GentlyItugthelittlehairs.It
distractshim,andhetakesmyhandandplantsatenderkissinmypalm.
Miraculously,thepaindisappears.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmethishurtlastnight?”
“Um…Ididn’treallyfeelitlastnight.It’sokaynow.”
Hiseyessoftenandhismouthtwists.“Howareyoufeeling?”
“BetterthanIdeserve.”
“That’squitearightarmyouhavethere,Mrs.Grey.”
“You’ddowelltorememberthat,Mr.Grey.”
“Ohreally?”Herollssuddenlysothathe’sfullyontopofme,pressingme
intothemattress,holdingmywristsabovemyhead.Hegazesdownatme.
“I’dfightyouanyday,Mrs.Grey.Infact,subduingyouinbedisafantasyof
mine.”Hekissesmythroat.
What?
“Ithoughtyousubduedmeallthetime.”Igaspashenibblesmyearlobe.
“Hmm…butI’dlikesomeresistance,”hemurmurs,hisnoseskirtingmy
jaw.
Resistance?Istill.Hestops,releasingmyhands,andleansuponhiselbows.
“Youwantmetofightyou?Here?”Iwhisper,tryingtocontainmysurprise.
Okay—myshock.Henods,hiseyeshoodedbutwaryashegaugesmy
reaction.
“Now?”
Heshrugs,andIseetheideaflitthroughhismind.Hegivesmehisshysmile
andnodsagain,slowly.
Ohmy…He’stensed,lyingontopofme,hisgrowingerectiondigging
tantalizinglyintomysoft,willingflesh,distractingme.What’sthisabout?
Brawling?Fantasy?Willhehurtme?Myinnergoddess290|Page
ELJAMES
shakesherhead—Never.She’sgotherkaratesuitonandshe’slimberingup.
Claudewouldbepleased.
“Isthiswhatyoumeantaboutcomingtobedangry?”
Henodsoncemore,hiseyesstillwary.
Hmm…myFiftywantstorumble.
“Don’tbiteyourlip,”hewarns.
Compliantly,Ireleasemylip.“Ithinkyouhavemeatadisadvantage,Mr.
Grey.”Ibatmylashesandsquirmprovocativelybeneathhim.Thiscouldbe
fun.
“Disadvantage?”
“Surelyyou’vealreadygotmewhereyouwantme?”
Hesmirksandpresseshisgroinintomineoncemore.
“Goodpointwellmade,Mrs.Grey,”hewhispersandquicklykissesmylips.
Abruptlyheshiftsandtakesmewithhim,rollingoversoI’mstraddlinghim.
Igrabhishands,pinningthemtothesideofhishead,andignorethe
protestingachefrommyhand.Myhairfallsinachestnutveilaroundus,and
Imovemyheadsothatthestrandsticklehisface.Hejerkshisfaceawaybut
doesn’ttrytostopme.
“So,youwanttoplayrough?”Iask,skimmingmycrotchoverhis.Hismouth
opensandheinhalessharply.
“Yes.”Hehisses,andIreleasehim.
“Wait.”Ireachoverfortheglassofwaterbesidethebed.Christianmusthave
leftithere.It’scoolandsparkling—toocooltohavebeensittingherefor
long.Briefly,Iwonderwhenhecametobed.AsItakealongdraught,
Christianreachesforwardandrunshishandsupfrommyknees.Hisfingers
trailinsmallcirclesovermythighs,leavingtinglingskinintheirwakeas
theytraveltomynakedbehind.Hecupsandsqueezesme.Hmm.Takinga
leaffromhisimpressiverepertoire,Ileanforwardandkisshim,pouringclear
coolwaterintohismouth.Hedrinks.
“Verytasty,Mrs.Grey,”hemurmursandgrinsupatme,boyishandplayful.
Placingtheglassbackonthebedsidetable,Ithenremovehishandsfrommy
backsideandpinthembyhisheadoncemore.
“SoI’msupposedtobeunwilling?”Ismirk.
“Yes.”
“I’mnotmuchofanactress.”
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FiftyShadesFreed
Hegrins.“Try.”
Ileandownandkisshimchastely.“Okay,I’llplay,”Iwhisper,trailingmy
teethalonghisjaw,feelinghispricklystubblebeneathmyteethandmy
tongue.
Christianmakesalow,sexysoundinhisthroatandmoves,tossingmeonto
thebedbesidehim.Icryoutinsurprise,thenhe’sontopofme,andIstartto
struggleashemakesagrabformyhands.Roughly,Iplacemyhandsonhis
chest,pushingwithallmymight,tryingtoshifthim,whileheendeavorsto
prymylegsapartwithhisknee.Icontinuepushingathischest—jeezhe’s
heavy—buthedoesn’tflinch,doesn’tfreezeasheoncemighthave.He’s
enjoyingthis!Heattemptstograbmywrists,andfinallycapturesone,despite
myvaliantattemptstotwistitfree.It’smysorehand,soIsurrenderittohim,
butgrabhishairwithmyotherhandandpullhard.
“Ah!”Heyankshisheadfreeandgazesdownatme,hiseyeswildandcarnal.
“Savage,”hewhispers,hisvoicelacedwithsalaciousdelight.Inresponseto
thisonewhisperedwordmylibidoexplodes,andIstopacting.AgainI
struggleinvaintowrestmyhandoutofhishold.AtthesametimeItryto
hookmyanklestogether,andattempttobuckhimoffme.He’stooheavy.
Gah—it’sfrustratingandhot.Withagroan,Christiancapturesmyother
hand.Heholdsbothmywristsinhislefthand,andhisrighttravelsleisurely
—insolently,almost—downmybody,fondlingandfeelingasitgoes,
tweakingmynippleontheway.
Iyelpinresponse,pleasurespikingshort,sharp,andhotfrommynippleto
mygroin.Imakeanotherfruitlessattempttobuckhimoff,buthe’sjusttoo
onme.
WhenhetriestokissmeIjerkmyheadtothesidesohecan’t.Promptlyhis
insolenthandmovesfromthehemofmyT-shirtuptomychin,holdingmein
placeasherunshisteethalongmyjaw,mirroringwhatIdidtohimearlier.
“Oh,baby,fightme,”hemurmurs.
Itwistandwrithe,tryingtofreemyselffromhismercilesshold,butit’s
hopeless.He’smuchstrongerthanme.He’sgentlybitingatmylowerlipas
histonguetriestoinvademymouth.AndIrealizeIdon’twanttoresisthim.I
wanthim—Iwanthimnow,likeIalwaysdo.I292|Page
ELJAMES
stopfightingandferventlyreturnhiskiss.Idon’tcarethatIhaven’tbrushed
myteeth.Idon’tcarethatwe’resupposedtobeplayingsomegame.Desire
hotandhardsurgesthroughmybloodstream,andI’mlost,losttohim.
Unhookingmyankles,Iwrapmylegsaroundhishipsandusemyheelsto
pushhispajamasdownoverhisbehind.
“Ana,”hebreathes,andhekissesmeeverywhere.Andwe’renolonger
wrestling,butquickandurgent,allhandsandtonguesandtouchandtaste.
“Skin,”hemurmurshoarsely,hisbreathinglabored.Hedragsmeupand
dragsoffmyT-shirtinoneswiftmove.
“You,”IwhisperwhileI’mupright,becauseit’sallIcanthinkoftosay.I
seizethefronthispajamasandyankthemdown,freeinghiserection.Igrab
andsqueezehim.He’shard.Theairwhistlesthroughhisteethasheinhales
sharply,andIrevelinhisresponse.
“Fuck,”hemurmurs.Heleansback,liftingmythighs,tippingmedownonto
thebedasIpullandsqueezehimtightly,runningmyhandupanddownhim.
Feelingabeadofmoistureonhistip,Iswirlitaroundwithmythumb.Ashe
lowersmetothemattress,Islipmythumbinmymouthtotastehimwhilehis
handstravelupmybody,caressingmyhips,mystomach,mybreasts.
“Tastegood?”heasksashehoversoverme,eyesblazing.
“Yes.Here.”Ipushmythumbintohismouthandhesucksandbitesthepad.I
groan,grasphisheadandpullhimdowntomesoIcankisshim.Wrapping
mylegsaroundhim,Ipushhispajamasoffhislegswithmyfeet,thencradle
himwithmylegsaroundhiswaist.Hislipstrailfromacrossmyjawtomy
chin,nippingsoftly.
“You’resobeautiful.”Hedipshisheadlowertothebaseofmythroat.“Such
beautifulskin.”Hisbreathissoftashislipsglidedowntomybreasts.
What?Iampanting,confused—wanting,nowwaiting.Ithoughtthiswas
goingtobequick.
“Christian.”Ihearthequietpleainmyvoiceandreachdown,fistingmy
handsinhishair.
“Hush,”hewhispersandcirclesmynipplewithhistonguebeforepullingit
intohismouthandtugginghard.
“Ah!”Imoanandsquirm,tiltingmypelvisuptotempthim.Hegrinsagainst
myskinandturnshisattentiontomyotherbreast.293|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Impatient,Mrs.Grey?”Hethensuckshardonmynipple.Itughishair.He
groansandpeersup.“I’llrestrainyou,”hewarns.
“Takeme,”Ibeg.
“Allingoodtime,”hemurmursagainstmyskin.Hishandtravelsdownatan
infuriatinglyslowspeedtomyhipasheworshipsmynipplewithhismouth.I
moanloudly,mybreathshortandshallow,andtryoncemoretoenticehim
intome,rockingagainsthim.He’sthickandheavyandclose,buthe’staking
hisownsweetleisurelytimewithme.
Fuckthis.Istruggleandtwist,determinedtobuckhimoffmeagain.
“Whatthe—”
Grabbingmyhands,Christianpinsthemdownonthebed,myarmsspread
wide,andrestshisfullbodyweightonme,completelysubduingme.Iam
breathless,wild.
“Youwantedresistance,”Isay,panting.Herearsupovermeandgazesdown,
hishandsstilllockedaroundmywrists.Iplacemyheelsunderhisbehindand
push.Hedoesn’tmove.Gah!
“Youdon’twanttoplaynice?”heasksastonished,hiseyesalightwith
excitement.
“Ijustwantyoutomakelovetome,Christian.”Couldhebeanymore
obtuse?Firstwe’refightingandwrestlingthenhe’salltenderandsweet.It’s
confusing.I’minbedwithMr.Mercurial.
“Please.”Ipressmyheelsagainsthisbacksideoncemore.Burninggrayeyes
searchmine.Oh,whatishethinking?Helooksmomentarilybewilderedand
confused.Hereleasesmyhandsandsitsbackonhisheels,pullingmeintohis
lap.
“Okay,Mrs.Grey,we’lldothisyourway.”Hereachesaroundmywaist,lifts,
andslowlylowersmeontohimsoI’mstraddlinghim.
“Ah!”Thisisit.ThisiswhatIwant.ThisiswhatIneed.Curlingmyarms
aroundhisneck,Itwistmyfingersinhishair,gloryinginthefeelingofhim
insideme.Istarttomove.Takingcontrol,takinghimatmypace,atmy
speed.Hemoans,andhislipsfindmineandwe’relost.
ItrailmyfingersthroughthehaironChristian’schest.Heliesonhisback,
stillandquietbesidemeaswebothcatchourbreath.Hishandthrums
rhythmicallydownmyback.
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ELJAMES
“You’requiet,”Iwhisperandkisshisshoulder.Heturnsandlooksdownat
me,hisexpressiongivingnothingaway.“Thatwasfun.”Iadd.Shit,is
somethingwrong?
“Youconfoundme,Mrs.Grey.”
“Confoundyou?”
Heshiftssothatwe’refacetoface.“Yes.You.Callingtheshots.It’s…
different.”
“Gooddifferent?Orbaddifferent?”Ireachupandtrailafingeroverhislips.
Hisbrowfurrows,asifhedoesn’tquiteunderstandthequestion.
Absentmindedly,hepurseshislipstokissmyfinger.
“Gooddifferent,”hesays,buthedoesn’tsoundconvinced.
“You’veneverindulgedthislittlefantasybefore?”IblushasIsayit.DoI
reallywanttoknowanymoreaboutmyhusband’scolorful…um,
kaleidoscopic,sexlifebeforeme?Mysubconsciouseyesmewarilyoverher
tortoiseshellhalf-moonspecs.Doyoureallywanttogothere?
“No,Anastasia,youcantouchme.”It’sasimpleexplanationthatspeaks
volumes.Ofcourse,thefifteencouldn’t.
“Mrs.Robinsoncouldtouchyou.”Imurmurthewordsbeforemybrain
registerswhatI’vesaid.Shit.
Hestills.Hiseyeswidenwithhisoh-no-where’s-she-going-withthis?
expression.“Thatwasdifferent,”hewhispers.SuddenlyIwanttoknow.
“Gooddifferentorbaddifferent?”
Hegazesatme.Doubtandpossiblypainflitacrosshisface,andfleetinglyhe
lookslikeamandrowning.WhydidImentionher?
“Bad,Ithink.”Hiswordsarebarelyaudible.
Holyshit!
“Ithoughtyoulikedit.”
“Idid.Atthetime.”
“Notnow?”
Hegazesatme,eyeswide,thenslowlyshakeshishead.Ohmy…“Oh,
Christian.”I’moverwhelmedbythefeelingsthatswampme.Mylostboy.I
launchmyselfathimandkisshisface,histhroat,hischest,hislittleround
scars.Hegroans,pullsmetohim,andkissesmepassionately.Andvery
slowly,andtenderly,athispace,hemakeslovetomeoncemore.
295|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“AnaTyson.Punchingaboveyourweight!”EthanapplaudsasIheadintothe
kitchenforbreakfast.He,Mia,andKatearesittingatthebreakfastbarwhile
Mrs.Bentleycookswaffles.Christianisnowheretobeseen.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Grey.”Mrs.Bentleysmiles.“Whatwouldyoulikefor
breakfast?”
“GoodMorning.Whatever’sgoing,thankyou.Where’sChristian?”
“Outside.”Kategestureswithherheadtowardthebackyard.Iwanderoverto
thewindowthatlooksoutontotheyardandthemountainsbeyond.It’sa
clear,powder-bluesummerday,andmybeautifulhusbandisabouttwenty
feetawayindeepdiscussionwithsomeguy.
“That’sMr.Bentleyhe’stalkingto,”callsMiafromthebreakfastbar.Iturnto
lookather,distractedbyhersulkytone.ShelooksvenomouslyatEthan.Oh
dear.Iwonderoncemorewhat’sgoingonbetweenthem.FrowningIturnmy
attentionbacktomyhusbandandMr.Bentley.
Mrs.Bentley’shusbandisfair-haired,darkeyedandwiry,dressedinwork
pantsandanAspenFireDepartmentT-shirt.Christianisdressedinhisblack
jeansandT-shirt.Asthetwomenambleacrossthelawntowardthehouselost
intheirconversation,Christiancasuallybendstopickupwhatlookslikea
bamboocanethatmusthavebeenblownoverordiscardedintheflowerbed.
Pausing,Christianabsentmindedlyholdsoutthecaneatarm’slengthasif
weighingitcarefullyandswipesitthroughtheair,justonce.Oh…
Mr.Bentleyappearstoseenothingoddinhisbehavior.Theycontinuetheir
discussion,nearerthehousethistime,thenpauseoncemore,andChristian
repeatsthegesture.Thetipofthecanehitstheground.Glancingup,Christian
seesmestandingatthewindow.SuddenlyIfeelasifI’mspyingonhim.He
blinks.Igivehimanembarrassedwavethenturnandwalkbacktothe
breakfastbar.
“Whatwereyoudoing?”asksKate.
“JustwatchingChristian.”
“Youhavegotitbad.”Shesnorts.
296|Page
ELJAMES
“Andyoudon’t,ohsoon-to-besister-in-law?”Ireply,grinningatherand
tryingtoburythedisquietingvisualofChristianwieldingacane.Iamstartled
whenKateleapsupandhugsme.
“Sister!”sheexclaims,andit’shardnottobesweptupinherjoy.
~o0o~
“Hey,sleepyhead.”Christianwakesme.“We’recomingintoland.Buckle
up.”
Ifumblesleepilyformyseatbelt,butChristianleansoverandfastensitfor
me.Hekissesmyforeheadbeforesettlingbackintohisseat.Ileanmyhead
onhisshoulderagainandclosemyeyes.Animpossiblylongwalk,followed
byapicniclunchontopofaspectacularmountain,hasexhaustedme.The
restofourpartyisquiet,too—evenMia.Shelooksdespondent,asshehasall
day.IwonderhowhercampaignwithEthanisgoing.Idon’tevenknow
wheretheysleptlastnight.MyeyescatchhersandIgiveasmallare-you-
okay?smile.Shegivesmeabriefsadsmileinreturnandgoesbacktoher
book.IpeekupatChristianthroughmylashes.He’sworkingonacontractor
something,readingitthroughandannotatingthemargins.Butheseems
relaxed.ElliotissnoringsoftlybesideKate.
IhaveyettocornerElliotandquizhimaboutGia,butit’sbeenimpossibleto
pryhimawayfromKate.Christianisn’tinterestedenoughtoask,whichis
irritating,butIhaven’tpressedhim.We’vebeenenjoyingourselvestoo
much.ElliotrestshishandpossessivelyonKate’sknee.She’slookingradiant,
andtothinkthatonlyyesterdayafternoonshewassounsureofhim.Whatdid
Christiancallhim?
Lelliot.Perhapsthat’safamilynickname?Itwassweet,betterthan
manwhore.Abruptly,Elliotopenshiseyesandgazesstraightatme.Iblush,
caughtstaring.
Hegrins.“Isureloveyourblush,Ana,”heteases,stretching.Kategivesme
herself-satisfied,cat-ate-the-canarysmile.OfficerBeighleyannouncesour
approachtoSea-Tac,andChristianclaspsmyhand.
~o0o~
297|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Howwasyourweekend,Mrs.Grey?”Christianasksoncewe’reintheAudi
headingbacktoEscala.TaylorandRyanareupfront.
“Good,thankyou.”Ismile,feelingshyallofasudden.
“Wecangoanytime.Takeanyoneyouwishtotake.”
“WeshouldtakeRay.He’dlikethefishing.”
“That’sagoodidea.”
“Howwasitforyou?”Iask.
“Good,”hesaysafteramoment,surprisedIthink,bymyquestion.
“Realgood.”
“Youseemedtorelax.”
Heshrugs.“Iknewyouweresafe.”
Ifrown.“Christian,I’msafemostofthetime.I’vetoldyoubefore,you’ll
keeloveratfortyifyoukeepupthislevelofanxiety.AndIwanttogrowold
andgraywithyou.”Ireachoverandgrasphishand.Helooksatmeasifhe
can’tcomprehendwhatI’msaying.Gentlytakingmyhand,hekissesmy
knucklesandchangesthesubject.
“How’syourhand?”
“It’sbetter,thankyou.”
Hesmiles.“Verygood,Mrs.Grey.YoureadytofaceGiaagain?”
Ohcrap.I’dforgottenwewereseeingherthiseveningtogooverthefinal
plans.Irollmyeyes.“Imightwanttokeepyououtoftheway,keepyou
safe.”Ismirk.
“Protectingme?”Christianislaughingatme.
“Asever,Mr.Grey.Fromallsexualpredators,”Iwhisper.
~o0o~
ChristianisbrushinghisteethwhenIcrawlintobed.Tomorrowwegoback
toreality—backtowork,thepaparazzi,andtoJackincustodybutwiththe
possibilitythathehasanaccomplice.Hmm…Christianwasvagueaboutthat.
Doesheknow?Andifhedidknow,wouldhetellme?Isigh.Getting
informationoutofChristianislikepullingteeth,andwe’vehadsuchalovely
weekend.DoIwanttoruinthefeel-goodmomentbytryingtodragthe
informationoutofhim?
It’sbeenarevelationtoseehimoutofhisnormalenvironment,outsidethis
apartment,relaxedandhappywithhisfamily.Iwondervaguelyifit’sbecause
we’rehereinthisapartment—withallits298|Page
ELJAMES
memoriesandassociations—thathegetswoundup.Maybeweshouldmove.
Isnort.Wearemoving—we’rehavingahugehouserefurbishedonthecoast.
Gia’splansarecompleteandapproved,andElliot’steamstartsbuildingnext
week.IchuckleasIrecallGia’sshockedexpressionwhenItoldherthatI’d
seenherinAspen.Turnsoutitwasnothingbutco-incidence.She’dcamped
outatherholidayplacetoworksolelyonourplans.Foroneawfulmoment
I’dthoughtshe’dhadahandinchoosingthering,butapparentlynot.ButI
stilldon’ttrustGia;IwanttohearthesamestoryfromElliot.Atleastshe
keptherdistancefromChristianthistime.
Ilookoutatthenightsky.Iwillmissthisview.Thispanoramicvista…
Seattleatourfeet,sofullofpossibilities,yetsofarremoved.Maybethat’s
Christian’sproblem—he’sbeentooisolatedfromreallifefortoolong,thanks
tohisself-imposedexile.Yetwithhisfamilyaroundhim,heisless
controlling,lessanxious—freer,happier.IwonderwhatFlynnwouldmakeof
allthat.Holycrap!Maybethat’stheanswer.Maybeheneedshisownfamily.
Ishakemyheadindenial—
we’retooyoung,toonewtoallthis.Christianstridesintotheroom,looking
hisusualgorgeousbutpensiveself.
“Everythingokay?”Iask.
Henodsdistractedlyasheclimbsintobed.
“I’mnotlookingforwardtogoingbacktoreality,”Imurmur.
“No?”
Ishakemyheadandreachuptocaresshislovelyface.“Ihadawonderful
weekend.Thankyou.”
Hesmilessoftly.“You’remyreality,Ana,”hemurmurs,leansforward,and
kissesme.
“Doyoumissit?”
“Misswhat?”heasks,perplexed.
“Youknow.Thecaning…andstuff,”Iwhisper,embarrassed.Hestaresat
me,hisgazeimpassive.Thendoubtcrosseshisface,hiswhere-is-she-going-
with-thislook.
“NoAnastasia,Idon’t.”Hisvoiceissteadyandquiet.Hecaressesmycheek.
“Dr.Flynnsaidsomethingtomewhenyouleft,somethingthat’sstayedwith
me.HesaidIcouldn’tbethatway,ifyouweren’tso299|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
inclined.Itwasarevelation.”Hestops,andfrowns.“Ididn’tknowanyother
way,Ana.NowIdo.It’sbeeneducational.”
“Me,educateyou?”Iscoff.
Hiseyessoften.“Doyoumissit?”heasks.
Oh!
“Idon’twantyoutohurtme,butIliketoplay,Christian.Youknowthat.If
youwantedtodosomething…”Ishrug,gazingathim.
“Something?”
“Youknow,withafloggeroryourcrop—”Istop,blushing.Heraiseshis
brow,surprised.“Well…we’llsee.Rightnow,I’dlikesomegoodold-
fashionedvanilla.”Histhumbskirtsmybottomlip,andhekissesmeonce
more.
~o0o~
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:GoodMorning
Date:August29,201109:14
To:ChristianGrey
Mr.Grey
IjustwantedtotellyouthatIloveyou.
Thatisall.
YoursAlways
Ax
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:BanishingMondayBlues
Date:August29,201109:18
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
300|Page
ELJAMES
Whatgratifyingwordstohearfromone’swife(errantornot)onaMonday
morning.
LetmeassureyouthatIfeelexactlythesameway.Sorryaboutthedinnerthis
evening.Ihopeitwon’tbetootediousforyou.
x
ChristianGrey,
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Ohyes.TheAmericanShipbuildingAssociationdinner.Irollmyeyes…
morestuffedshirts.Christianreallydoestakemetothemostfascinating
functions.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Shipsthatpassinthenight
Date:August29,201109:26
To:ChristianGrey
DearMr.Grey
Iamsureyoucanthinkofawaytospiceupthedinner…Yoursin
anticipation
Mrs.G.x
Anastasia(non-errant)Grey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:VarietyistheSpiceofLife
Date:August29,201109:35
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
Ihaveafewideas…
301|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
x
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsNowImpatientfortheASADinnerInc.
Allthemusclesinmybellyclench.Hmm…Iwonderwhathe’lldreamup.
Hannaknocksonthedoor,interruptingmyreverie.
“Readytogothroughyourscheduleforthisweek,Ana?”
“Sure.Sit.”Ismile,recoveringmyequilibrium,andminimizemyemail
program.“I’vehadtomoveacoupleofappointments.Mr.Foxnextweekand
Dr.—”
Myphonerings,interruptingher.It’sRoach.Heasksmeuptohisoffice.
“Canwepickthisupintwentyminutes?”
“Ofcourse.”
~o0o~
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Lastnight
Date:August30,201109:24
To:AnastasiaGrey
Was…fun.
WhowouldhavethoughttheASAannualdinnercouldbesostimulating?
Asever,youneverdisappoint,Mrs.Grey.
Iloveyou.
x
ChristianGrey
Inawe,CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
302|Page
ELJAMES
Subject:Iloveagoodballgame…
Date:August30,201109:33
To:ChristianGrey
DearMr.Grey
Ihavemissedthesilverballs.
Youneverdisappoint.
Thatisall.
Mrs.G.x
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
Hannahtapsonmydoor,interruptingmyeroticthoughtsoftheprevious
evening.Christian’shands…hismouth.
“Comein.”
“Ana,Mr.Roach’sPAjustcalled.He’dlikeyoutoattendameetingthis
morning.ItmeansIhavetomovesomeofyourappointmentsagain.Isthat
okay.”
Histongue.
“Sure.Yes,”Imuttertryingtohaltmywaywardthoughts.Shegrinsand
ducksoutofmyoffice…leavingmewithmydeliciousmemoryoflastnight.
~o0o~
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Hyde
Date:September1,201115:24
To:AnastasiaGrey
Anastasia
Foryourinformation,Hydehasbeenrefusedbailandremandedincustody.
He’schargedwithattemptedkidnapandarson.Asyetnodatehasbeensetfor
thetrial.
303|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Hyde
Date:September1,201115:53
To:ChristianGrey
That’sgoodnews.
Doesthismeanyou’llightenuponsecurity?
Irealydon’tseeeyetoeyewithPrescott.
Anax
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Hyde
Date:September1,201115:59
To:AnastasiaGrey
No.Securitywillremaininplace.Noarguments.
What’swrongwithPrescott?Ifyoudon’tlikeher,we’lreplaceher.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Iscowlathishigh-handede-mail.Prescottisn’tthatbad.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Keepyourhairon!
304|Page
ELJAMES
Date:September1,201116:03
To:ChristianGrey
Iwasjustasking(rolseyes).AndI’lthinkaboutPrescott.Stowthattwitchy
palm!
Anax
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Don’ttemptme.
Date:September1,201116:11
To:AnastasiaGrey
Icanassureyou,Mrs.Grey,thatmyhairisveryfirmlyattached—hasthisnot
beendemonstratedoftenenoughbyyourgoodself?
Mypalm,however,istwitching.
Imightdosomethingaboutthattonight.
x
ChristianGrey
NotbaldyetCEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Squirm
Date:September1,201116:20
To:ChristianGrey
Promises,promises…
Nowstoppesteringme.Iamtryingtowork;Ihaveanimpromptumeeting
withanauthor.Willtrynottobedistractedbythoughtsofyouduringthe
meeting.
Ax
305|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
~o0o~
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Sailing&Soaring&SpankingDate:September5,201109:18
To:ChristianGrey
Husband
Yousureknowhowtoshowagirlagoodtime.
Ishallofcoursebeexpectingthiskindoftreatmenteveryweekend.
Youarespoilingme.Iloveit.
Yourwife
xox
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Mylife’smission…
Date:September5,201109:25
To:AnastasiaGrey
Istospoilyou,Mrs.Grey.
AndkeepyousafebecauseIloveyou.
ChristianGrey
SmittenCEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Ohmy.Couldhebeanymoreromantic?
306|Page
ELJAMES
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Mylife’smission…
Date:September5,201109:33
To:ChristianGrey
Istoletyou—becauseIloveyou,too.
Nowstopbeingsosappy.
Youaremakingmecry.
AnastasiaGrey
EquallySmittenCommissioningEditor,SIP
~o0o~
Thefollowingday,Igazeatthecalendaronmydesk.Onlyfivedaysuntil
September10—mybirthday.Iknowwearedrivingouttothehousetosee
howElliotandhiscrewareprogressing.Hmm…IwonderifChristianhas
anyotherplans?Ismileatthethought.Hannatapsonmydoor.
“Comein.”
Prescottishoveringoutside.Odd…
“Hi,Ana,”saysHanna.“There’saLeilaWilliamsheretoseeyou?
Shesaysit’spersonal.”
“LeilaWilliams?Idon’tknowa…”Mymouthgoesdry,andHanna’seyes
widenatmyexpression.
Leila?Fuck.Whatdoesshewant?
307|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChapterSixteen
“Doyouwantmetosendheraway?”Hannaasks,alarmedatmyexpression.
“Um,no.Whereisshe?”
“Inreception.She’snotalone.She’saccompaniedbyanotheryoungwoman.”
Oh!
“AndMissPrescottwantstotalktoyou,”Hannaadds.I’msureshedoes.
“Sendherin.”
HannastandsasideandPrescottentersmyoffice.She’sonamission,
bristlingwithprofessionalefficiency.
“Givemeamoment,Hanna.Prescott,takeaseat.”
Hannaclosesthedoor,leavingPrescottandmealone.
“Mrs.Grey,LeilaWilliamsisonyourproscribedlistofvisitors.”
“What!”Ihaveaproscribedlist?
“Onourwatchlist,ma’am.TaylorandWelchhavebeenquitespecificabout
notlettinghercomeintocontactwithyou.”
Ifrown,notunderstanding.“Isshedangerous?”
“Ican’tsay,ma’am.”
“WhydoIevenknowthatshe’shere?”
Prescottswallowsandforamomentlooksawkward.“Iwasonarestroom
break.Shecamein,spokedirectlytoClaire,andClairecalledHanna.”
“Oh.Isee.”IrealizethatevenPrescotthastopee,andIlaugh.“Ohdear.”
“Yesma’am.”Prescottgivesmeanembarrassedgrin,andit’sthefirsttime
I’veseenachinkinherarmor.Shehasalovelysmile.
“IneedtotalktoClaireaboutprotocol,again,”shesays,hertoneweary.
“Sure.DoesTaylorknowshe’shere?”Icrossmyfingersunconsciously,
hopingshehasn’ttoldChristian.
“Ileftabriefvoicemessageforhim.”
308|Page
ELJAMES
Oh.
“ThenIonlyhaveashorttime.I’dliketoknowwhatshewants.”
Prescottgazesatmeforamoment.“Imustadviseagainstit,ma’am.”
“She’sheretoseemeforareason.”
“I’msupposedtopreventthat,ma’am.”Hervoiceissoftbutresigned.
“Ireallywanttohearwhatshehastosay.”MytoneismoreforcefulthanI
intend.
Prescottstifleshersigh.“I’dliketosearchthembothbeforeyoudo.”
“Okay.Canyoudothat?”
“I’mheretoprotectyou,Mrs.Grey,soyes,Ican.I’dalsoliketostaywith
youwhileyoutalk.”
“Okay.”I’llgrantherthisconcession.Besides,lasttimeImetLeilashewas
armed.“Goahead.”
Prescottrises.
“Hanna,”Icall.
Hannaopensthedoortooquickly.Shemusthavebeenhoveringoutside.
“Canyouchecktoseeifthemeetingroomisfree,please?”
“Ialreadyhave,andit’sgoodtogo.”
“Prescott,canyousearchtheminthere?Isitprivateenough?”
“Yesma’am.”
“I’llbethereinfiveminutes,then.Hanna,showMrs.Williamsand
whomevershe’swithintothemeetingroom.”
“Willdo.”HannalooksanxiouslyfromPrescotttome.“ShallIcancelyour
nextmeeting?It’satfour,butit’sacrosstown.”
“Yes,”Imurmur,distracted.Hannanodsthenleaves.WhatthehelldoesLeila
want?Idon’tthinkshe’sheretodomeanyharm.Shedidn’tinthepastwhen
shehadtheopportunity.Christianisgoingtogonuts.Mysubconscious
pursesherlips,primlycrossesherlegs,andnods.IneedtotellhimthatIam
doingthis.Itypeaquickemail,thenpause,checkingthetime.Ifeela
momentarypangofregret.We’vebeengettingalongsowellsinceAspen.I
presssend.
309|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Visitors
Date:September6,201115:27
To:ChristianGrey
Christian
Leilaisheretoseeme.IwillseeherwithPrescott.I’lusemynewlyacquired
slappingskilswithmynowhealedhandshouldIneedto.
Try,andImeantry,nottoworry.
Iamabiggirl.
Wilcaloncewe’vespoken.
Ax
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
Hurriedly,IhidemyBlackBerryinmydeskdrawer.Istand,smoothingmy
graypencilskirtovermyhips,pinchmycheekstogivethemsomecolor,and
undothenextbuttononmygraysilkblouse.Okay,I’mready.Aftertakinga
deepbreath,IheadoutofmyofficetomeetMrs.LeilaWilliams,ignoring
“YourLoveisKing”humminggentlyfrominsidemydesk.
Leilalooksmuchbetter.Morethanbetter—she’sveryattractive.There’sa
rosybloomtohercheeks,andherhazeleyesarebright,herhaircleanand
shiny.She’sdressedinapalepinkblouseandwhitepants.Shestandsassoon
asIenterthemeetingroom,asdoesherfriend—anotherdark-hairedyoung
womanwithsoftbrowneyes,thecolorofbrandy.Prescotthoversinthe
corner,nottakinghereyesoffLeila.
“Mrs.Grey,thankyousomuchforseeingme.”Leila’svoiceissoftbutclear.
“Um…Sorryaboutthesecurity,”ImutterbecauseIcannotthinkwhatelseto
say.IwaveahanddistractedlyatPrescott.
“ThisismyfriendSusi.”
310|Page
ELJAMES
“Hi.”InodatSusi.ShelookslikeLeila.Shelookslikeme.Ohno.Another
one.
“Yes,”Leilasays,asifreadingmythoughts.“SusiknowsMr.Grey,too.”
WhatthehellamIsupposedtosaytothat?Igiveherapolitesmile.
“Please,sit,”Imurmur.
There’saknockonthedoor.It’sHanna.Imotionherin,knowingfullwell
whyshe’sdisturbingus.
“Sorrytointerrupt,Ana.IhaveMr.Greyontheline?”
“TellhimI’mbusy.”
“Hewasquiteinsistent,”shesaysfearfully.
“Iamsurehewas.Wouldyouapologizetohim,andsayI’llcallhimback
veryshortly?”
Hannahesitates.
“Hanna,please.”
Shenodsandscuttlesoutoftheroom.Iturnbacktothetwowomensittingin
frontofme.Theyarebothstaringatmeinawe.It’suncomfortable.
“WhatcanIdoforyou?”Iask.
Susispeaks.“Iknowthisisallkindsofweird,butIwantedtomeetyou,too.
ThewomanwhocapturedChris—”
Iholdupmyhand,stoppingherinmid-flow.Idonotwanttohearthis.
“Um…Igetthepicture,”Imutter.
“Wecallourselvesthesubclub.”Shegrinsatme,hereyesshiningwith
mirth.
OhmyGod.
LeilagaspsandgapesatSusi,atonceamusedandappalled.Susiwinces.I
suspectLeila’skickedherunderthetable.WhatthehellamIsupposedtosay
tothat?IglancenervouslyatPrescott,whoremainsimpassive,hereyesnever
leavingLeila.Susiseemstorememberherself.Sheblushes,thennodsand
stands.
“I’llwaitinreception.ThisisLulu’sshow.”Icantellshe’sembarrassed.
Lulu?
“You’llbeokay?”sheasksLeila,whosmilesupather.Susigivesmealarge,
open,genuinesmileandexitstheroom.311|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
SusiandChristian…it’snotathoughtIwishtodwellon.Prescotttakesher
phoneoutofherpocketandanswersit.Ididn’thearitring.
“Mr.Grey,”shesays.LeilaandIturntolookather.Prescottcloseshereyes
asifinpain.
“Yes,sir,”shesaysandsteppingforwardhandsmethephone.Irollmyeyes.
“Christian,”Imurmur,tryingtocontainmyexasperation.Istandandstride
brisklyoutoftheroom.
“Whatthefuckareyouplayingat?”heshouts.He’sseething.
“Don’tshoutatme.”
“Whatdoyoumeandon’tshoutatyou?”heshouts,louderthistime.
“Igavespecificinstructionswhichyouhavecompletelydisregarded—
again.Hell,Ana,Iamfuckingfurious.”
“Whenyouarecalmer,wewilltalkaboutthis.”
“Don’tyouhanguponme,”hehisses.
“Goodbye,Christian.”IhangupandswitchoffPrescott’sphone.Holyshit.I
don’thavelongwithLeila.Takingadeepbreath,Ireenterthemeetingroom.
BothLeilaandPrescottlookupatmeexpectantly,andIhandPrescotther
phone.
“Wherewerewe?”IaskLeilaasIsitbackdownoppositeher.Hereyes
widenslightly.
Yes—apparentlyIhandlehim,Iwanttosaytoher.ButIdon’tthinkshe
wantstohearthat.
Leilafiddlesnervouslywiththeendsofherhair.“First,Iwantedto
apologize,”shesayssoftly.
Oh…
Sheglancesupandregistersmysurprise.“Yes,”shesaysquickly.
“Andtothankyoufornotpressingcharges.Youknow—foryourcarandin
yourapartment.”
“Iknowyouweren’t…um,well,”Imurmur,reeling.Ihadn’texpectedan
apology.
“No,Iwasn’t.”
“You’refeelingbetternow?”Iaskgently.
“Much.Thankyou.”
“Doesyourdoctorknowyou’rehere?”
Sheshakesherhead.
Oh.
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ELJAMES
Shenods,lookingsuitablyguilty.“IknowI’llhavetodealwiththefallout
fromthatlater.ButIhadtogetsomethings,andIwantedtoseeSusi,and
you,and…Mr.Grey.”
“YouwanttoseeChristian?”Mystomachfree-fallstothefloor.That’swhy
she’shere.
“Yes.Iwantedtoaskyouifthatwouldbeokay.”
Holyfuck.Igapeather,andIwanttotellherthatit’snotokay.Idon’twant
heranywherenearmyhusband.Whyisshehere?Toassesstheopposition?
Tounsettleme?Orperhapssheneedsthisassomesortofclosure?
“Leila.”Iflounder,exasperated.“It’snotuptome,it’suptoChristian.You’ll
needtoaskhim.Hedoesn’tneedmypermission.He’sagrownman…most
ofthetime.”
Shegazesatmeforafractionofabeat,asifsurprisedbymyreactionthen
laughssoftly,nervouslytwiddlingtheendofherhair.
“He’srepeatedlyrefusedallmyrequeststoseehim,”shesaysquietly.
Ohshit.I’minmoretroublethanIthought.
“Whyisitsoimportantforyoutoseehim?”Iaskgently.
“Tothankhim.I’dberottinginastinkingprisonpsychiatricfacilityifit
wasn’tforhim.Iknowthat.”Sheglancesdown,andrunsherfingeralongthe
edgeofthetable.“Isufferedaseriouspsychoticepisode,andwithoutMr.
GreyandJohn—Dr.Flynn…”Sheshrugsandgazesupatmeoncemore,her
facefullofgratitude.OnceagainI’mspeechless.Whatdoessheexpectmeto
say?SurelysheshouldbesayingthesethingstoChristian,notme.
“Andforartschool.Ican’tthankhimenoughforthat.”
Iknewit!Christianisfundingherclasses.Iremainexpressionless,tentatively
exploringmyfeelingsforthiswomannowthatshe’sconfirmedmysuspicions
aboutChristian’sgenerosity.Tomysurprise,Ifeelnoillwilltowardher.It’sa
revelation—I’mgladshe’sbetter.Now,hopefully,shecanmoveonwithher
lifeandoutofours.
“Areyoumissingclassesbeinghere?”Iask,becauseI’minterested.
“Onlytwo.Iheadhometomorrow.”
Ohgood.“Whatareyourplans,whileyou’rehere?”
“PickupmybelongingsfromSusi,returntoHamden.Continuepaintingand
learning.Mr.Greyalreadyhasacoupleofmypaintings.”
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FiftyShadesFreed
What?Mystomachplungesintothebasementoncemore.Whatthehell…?
Aretheyhanginginmylivingroom?Ibridleatthethought.
“Whatsortofpaintingdoyoudo?”
“Abstracts,mainly.”
“Isee.”Mymindflitsthroughthenow-familiarpaintingsinthegreatroom.
TwobyMrs.LeilaWilliams…possibly.Jeez.
“Mrs.Grey,canIspeakfrankly?”sheasks,completelyoblivioustomy
warringemotions.
“Byallmeans,”Imutter,glancingatPrescott,wholookslikeshe’srelaxeda
little.Leilaleansforwardasiftoimpartalong-heldsecret.
“IlovedGeoff,myboyfriendwhodiedearlierthisyear.”Hervoicedropstoa
sadwhisper.
Holyshit,she’sgettingpersonal.
“I’msosorry,”Imutterautomatically,butshecontinuesasifshehasn’theard
me.
“Ilovedmyhusband…andoneother,”shemurmurs.
“Myhusband.”ThewordsareoutofmymouthbeforeIcanstopthem.
“Yes.”Shemouthstheword.
Thisisnotnewstome.Whensheliftsherhazeleyestomine,theyarewide
withconflictingemotions,andtheoverridingoneseemstobeapprehension.
Apprehensionofmyreaction,perhaps?Butmyoverwhelmingresponseto
thispooryoungwomanis…compassion.MentallyIrunthroughallthe
classicalliteratureIcanthinkofthatdealswithunrequitedlove.Swallowing
hard,Iclutchthemoralhighground.
“Iknow.He’sveryeasytolove,”Iwhisper.
Herwideeyeswidenfurtherinsurprise,andshesmiles.“Yes.Heis.Was.”
Shecorrectsherselfquicklyandblushes.ThenshegigglessosweetlythatI
can’thelpmyself.Igiggle,too.Yes,ChristianGreymakesusgiggly.My
subconsciousrollshereyesatmeindespairandgoesbacktoreadingherdog-
earedcopyofJaneEyre.Iglanceatmywatch.DeepdownIknowChristian
willbeheresoon.
“You’llgetyourchancetoseeChristian.”
“IthoughtIwould.Iknowhowprotectivehecanbe.”Shesmiles.Sothisis
herscheme.She’sveryshrewd.Ormanipulative,whispersmysubconscious.
“Thisiswhyyou’reheretoseeme?”
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“Yes.”
“Isee.”AndChristianisplayingintoherhands.Reluctantly,Ihaveto
acknowledgethatsheknowshimwell.
“Heseemedveryhappy.Withyou,”shesays.
What?“Howwouldyouknow?”
“FromwhenIwasintheapartment.”Sheaddscautiously.Ohhell…how
couldIforgetthat?
“Wereyouthereoften?”
“No.Buthewasverydifferentwithyou.”
DoIwanttohearthis?Ashudderrunsthroughme.MyscalppricklesasI
recallmyfearwhenshewastheunseenshadowinourapartment.
“Youknowit’sagainstthelaw.Trespassing.”
Shenods,gazingdownatthetable.Sherunsafingernailalongtheedge.“It
wasonlyafewtimes,andIwasluckynottogetcaught.Again,Ineedto
thankMr.Greyforthat.Hecouldhavehadmethrowninjail.”
“Idon’tthinkhe’ddothat,”Imurmur.
Suddenlythereisaflurryofactivityoutsidethemeetingroom,and
instinctivelyIknowthatChristianisinthebuilding.Amomentlaterhebursts
throughthedoor,andbeforeheclosesit,IcatchTaylor’seyeashestands
patientlyoutside.Taylor’smouthissetinagrimline,andhedoesn’treturn
mytightsmile.Ohhell,evenhe’smadatme.Christian’sburninggraygaze
pinsfirstmethenLeilatoourchairs.Hisdemeanorisquietlydetermined,but
Iknowbetter,andIsuspectLeiladoes,too.Themenacingcoolglintinhis
eyesrevealsthetruth—
he’semanatingrage,thoughhehidesitwell.Inhisgraysuit,withhisdarktie
loosenedandthetopbuttonofhiswhiteshirtundone,helooksatonce
businesslikeandcasual…andhot.Hishairisindisarray—nodoubtbecause
he’sbeenrunninghishandsthroughitinexasperation.Leilalooksnervously
downattheedgeofthetable,runningherindexfingeralongtheedgeagain,
asChristianlooksfrommetoherandthentoPrescott.
“You,”hesaystoPrescottinasofttone.“You’refired.Getoutnow.”
Iblanch.Ohno—thisisn’tfair.
“Christian—”Imaketostandup.
315|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Heholdshisindexfingerupatmeinwarning.
“Don’t,”hesays.HisvoicesoominouslyquietthatI’mimmediatelysilenced
androotedtomyseat.Bowingherhead,Prescottwalksbrisklyoutofthe
roomtojoinTaylor.Christianshutsthedoorbehindherandwalkstotheedge
ofthetable.Crap!Crap!Crap!Thatwasmyfault.Christianstandsopposite
Leila,andplacingbothhandsonthewoodensurface,heleansforward.
“Whatthefuckareyoudoinghere?”hegrowlsather.
“Christian!”Igasp.Christianignoresme.
“Well?”hedemands.
Leilapeeksupathimthroughlonglashes,hereyeswide,herfaceashen,her
rosyglowgone.
“Iwantedtoseeyou,andyouwouldn’tletme,”shewhispers.
“Soyoucameheretoharassmywife?”Hisvoiceisquiet.Tooquiet.
Leilalooksdownatthetableagain.
Christianstandsgloweringather.“Leila,ifyoucomeanywherenearmywife
again,Iwillcutoffallsupport.Doctors,artschool,medicalinsurance—allof
it—gone.Doyouunderstand?”
“Christian—”Itryagain.Buthesilencesmewithachillinglook.Whyishe
beingsounreasonable?Mycompassionforthissadwomanblooms.
“Yes,”shesays,hervoicejustaudible.
“What’sSusannahdoinginreception?”
“Shecamewithme.”
Herunsahandthroughhishair,glaringather.
“Christian,please,”Ibeghim.“Leilajustwantstosaythankyou.That’sall.”
Heignoresme,concentratinghiswrathonLeila.“Didyoustaywith
Susannahwhileyouweresick?”
“Yes.”
“Didsheknowwhatyouweredoingwhileyouwerestayingwithher?”
“No.Shewasawayonvacation.”
Hestrokeshisindexfingeroverhislowerlip.“Whydoyouneedtoseeme?
YouknowyoushouldrouteanyrequeststhroughFlynn.Doyouneed
something?”Histonehassoftened,maybebyafraction.316|Page
ELJAMES
Leilarunsherfingeralongtheedgeofthetableagain.Stopbullyingher,
Christian!
“Ihadtoknow.”Andforthefirsttimeshelooksupdirectlyathim.
“Hadtoknowwhat?”hesnaps.
“Thatyou’reokay.”
Hegapesather.“ThatI’mokay?”hescoffs,disbelieving.
“Yes.”
“I’mfine.There,questionanswered.NowTaylorwillrunyoutoSea-Tacso
youcangobacktotheEastCoast.Andifyoutakeonestepwestofthe
Mississippiit’sallgone.Understand?”
Holyfuck…Christian!Igapeathim.Whatthefuckiseatinghim?
Hecannotconfinehertoonesideofthecountry.
“Yes.Iunderstand,”Leilasaysquietly.
“Good.”Christian’stoneismoreconciliatory.
“ItmightnotbeconvenientforLeilatogobacknow.Shehasplans,”Iobject,
outragedonherbehalf.
Christianglaresatme.“Anastasia,”hewarns,hisvoiceicy,“thisdoesnot
concernyou.”
Iscowlathim.Ofcourseitconcernsme—she’sinmyoffice.Theremustbe
moretothisthanIknow.He’snotbeingrational.FiftyShades,my
subconscioushissesatme.
“Leilacametoseeme,notyou,”Imurmurpetulantly.Leilaturnstome,her
eyesimpossiblywide.
“Ihadmyinstructions,Mrs.Grey.Idisobeyedthem.”Sheglancesnervously
atmyhusband,thenbackatme.
“ThisistheChristianGreyIknow,”shesays,hertonesadandwistful.
Christianfrownsather,whileallthebreathevaporatesfrommylungs.Ican’t
breathe.WasChristianlikethiswithherallthetime?
Washelikethiswithme,atfirst?Ifindithardtoremember.Givingmea
forlornsmile,Leilarisesfromthetable.
“I’dliketostayuntiltomorrow.Myflightisatnoon,”shesaysquietlyto
Christian.
“I’llhavesomeonecollectyouattentotakeyoutotheairport.”
“Thankyou.”
“You’reatSusannah’s?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
317|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
IglareatChristian.Hecan’tdictatetoherlikethis…andhowdoesheknow
whereSusannahlives?
“Goodbye,Mrs.Grey.Thankyouforseeingme.”
Istandandholdoutmyhand.Shetakesitgratefullyandweshake.
“Um…goodbye.Goodluck,”Imutter,becauseI’mnotsurewhatthe
protocolisforsayingfarewelltomyhusband’sex-submissive.Shenodsand
turnstohim.“Goodbye,Christian.”
Christian’seyessoftenalittle.“Goodbye,Leila.”Hisisvoicelow.
“Dr.Flynn,remember.”
“Yes,Sir.”
Heopensthedoortousherherout,butshehaltsinfrontofhimandlooksup.
Hestills,watchingherwarily.
“I’mgladyou’rehappy.Youdeservetobe,”shesaysandleavesbeforehecan
reply.Hefrownsafterher,bemused,thennodstoTaylor,whofollowsLeila
towardthereceptionarea.Closingthedoor,Christiangazesuncertainlyatme.
“Don’teventhinkaboutbeingangrywithme,”Ihiss.“CallClaudeBastille
andkicktheshitoutofhimorgoseeFlynn.”
Hismouthdropsopen;he’ssosurprisedbymyoutburst,andhisbrowcreases
oncemore.
“Youpromisedyouwouldn’tdothis.”Nowhistoneisaccusatory.
“Dowhat?”
“Defyme.”
“NoIdidn’t.IsaidI’dbemoreconsiderate.Itoldyoushewashere.Ihad
Prescottsearchher,andyourotherlittlefriend,too.Prescottwaswithmethe
entiretime.Nowyou’vefiredthepoorwoman,whenshewasonlydoing
whatIasked.Itoldyounottoworry,yethereyouare.Idon’tremember
receivingyourpapalbulldecreeingthatIcouldn’tseeLeila.Ididn’tknow
thatmyvisitorsweresubjecttoaproscribedlist.”
MyvoiceriseswithindignationasIwarmtomycause.Christianregardsme,
bemusedoncemore.Afteramomenthismouthtwists.
“Papalbull?”hesays,amused,andhevisiblyrelaxes.Iwasn’taimingto
lightenourconversation,yethereheissmirkingatme,andthatmakesme
madder.Theexchangebetweenhimandhisexwaspainfultowitness.How
couldhebesocoldwithher?
“What?”heasks,exasperated,asmyfaceremainsresolutelystraight.
318|Page
ELJAMES
“You.Whywereyousocalloustowardher?”
Hesighsandshifts,steppingtowardmeandperchingonthetable.
“Anastasia,”hesaysasiftoachild.“Youdon’tunderstand.Leila,Susannah
—allofthem—theywereapleasant,divertingpastime.Butthat’sall.Youare
thecenterofmyuniverse.Andthelasttimeyoutwowereinaroomtogether,
shehadyouatgunpoint.Idon’twantheranywherenearyou.”
“But,Christian,shewasill.”
“Iknowthat,andIknowshe’sbetternow,butI’mnotgivingherthebenefit
ofthedoubtanymore.Whatshedidwasunforgivable.”
“Butyou’vejustplayedrightintoherhands.Shewantedtoseeyouagain,
andsheknewyou’dcomerunningifshecametoseeme.”
Christianshrugsasifhedoesn’tcare.“Idon’twantyoutaintedwithmyold
life.”
What?
“Christian…youarewhoyouarebecauseofyouroldlife,yournewlife,
whatever.Whattouchesyou,touchesme.IacceptedthatwhenIagreedto
marryyou,becauseIloveyou.”
Hestills.Iknowhefindsithardtohearthis.
“Shedidn’thurtme.Shelovesyou,too.”
“Idon’tgiveafuck.”
Igapeathim,shocked.AndI’mshockedthathestillhasthecapacityto
shockme.ThisistheChristianGreyIknow.Leila’swordsrattlearoundmy
head.Hisreactiontoherwassocold,somuchatoddswiththemanI’ve
cometoknowandlove.Ifrown,recallingtheremorsehefeltwhenshehad
herbreakdown,whenhethoughthemightinsomewayberesponsibleforher
pain.Iswallow,remembering,too,thathebathedher.Mystomachtwists
painfullyatthethought,andbilerisesinmythroat.Howcanhesayhe
doesn’tcareabouther?Hedidbackthen.What’schanged?Sometimes,like
now,Ijustdon’tunderstandhim.Heoperatesonalevelfar,farremovedfrom
mine.
“Whyareyouchampioninghercauseallofasudden?”heasks,mystifiedand
irritable.
“Look,Christian,Idon’tthinkLeilaandIwillbeswappingrecipesand
knittingpatternsanytimesoon.ButIdidn’tthinkyou’dbesoheartlessto
her.”
319|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Hiseyesfrost.“Itoldyouonce,Idon’thaveaheart,”hemutters.Irollmy
eyes—oh,nowheisbeingadolescent.
“That’sjustnottrue,Christian.You’rebeingridiculous.Youdocareabout
her.Youwouldn’tbepayingforartclassesandtherestofthatstuffifyou
didn’t.”
Suddenly,it’smylifetimeambitiontomakehimrealizethis.It’s
painstakinglyobviousthathecares.Whydoeshedenyit?It’slikehisfeelings
forhisbirthmother.Ohshit—ofcourse.HisfeelingsforLeilaandhisother
submissivesaretangledupwithhisfeelingsforhismother.Iliketowhip
littlebrown-hairedgirlslikeyoubecauseyoualllooklikethecrackwhore.
Nowonderhe’ssomad.Isighandshakemyhead.PagingDr.Flynn,please.
Howcanhenotseethis?
Myheartswellsforhimmomentarily.Mylostboy…Whyisitsohardfor
himtogetbackintouchwiththehumanity,thecompassionheshowedLeila
whenshehadherbreakdown?
Heglaresatme,hiseyesglitteringwithanger.“Thisdiscussionisover.Let’s
gohome.”
Iglanceatmywatch.It’sfourtwenty-three.Ihaveworktodo.“It’stoo
early,”Imutter.
“Home,”heinsists.
“Christian.”Myvoiceisweary.“I’mtiredofhavingthesameargumentwith
you.”
Hefrownsasifhedoesn’tunderstand.
“Youknow,”Ielucidate,“Idosomethingyoudon’tlike,andyouthinkof
somewaytogetbackatme.Usuallyinvolvingsomeofyourkinkyfuckery,
whichiseithermind-blowingorcruel.”Ishrug,resigned.Thisisexhausting
andconfusing.
“Mind-blowing?”heasks.
What?
“Usually,yes.”
“Whatwasmind-blowing?”heasks,hiseyesnowshimmeringwithamused
sensualcuriosity.AndIknowhe’stryingtodistractme.Crap!Idonotwant
todiscussthisinSIP’smeetingroom.Mysubconsciousexaminesherfinely
manicurednailswithdisdain.Shouldn’thavebroughtthesubjectup,then.
“Youknow.”Iblush,irritatedwithbothhimandmyself.
“Icanguess,”hewhispers.
320|Page
ELJAMES
Holycrap.I’mtryingtocastigatehimandhe’sconfoundingme.
“Christian,I—”
“Iliketopleaseyou.”
Hedelicatelytraceshisthumbovermybottomlip.
“Youdo,”Iacknowledge,myvoiceawhisper.
“Iknow,”hesayssoftly.Heleansforwardandwhispersinmyear,
“It’stheonethingIdoknow.”Oh,hesmellsgood.Heleansbackandgazes
downatme,hislipscurledinanarrogant,I-so-own-yousmile.Pursingmy
lips,Istrivetoappearunaffectedbyhistouch.Heissoartfulatdivertingme
fromanythingpainful,oranythinghedoesn’twanttoaddress.Andyoulet
him,mysubconsciouspipesupunhelpfully,gazingoverhercopyofJane
Eyre.
“Whatwasmind-blowing,Anastasia?”heprompts,awickedgleaminhis
eye.
“Youwantthelist?”Iask.
“There’salist?”He’spleased.
Oh,thismanisexhausting.“Well,thehandcuffs,”Imumble,mymind
catapultedbacktoourhoneymoon.
Hefurrowshisbrowandgraspsmyhand,tracingthepulsepointonmywrist
withhisthumb.
“Idon’twanttomarkyou.”
Oh…
Hislipscurlinaslowcarnalsmile.
“Comehome.”Histoneisseductive.
“Ihaveworktodo.”
“Home,”hesays,moreinsistent.
Wegazeateachother,moltengrayintobewilderedblue,testingeachother,
testingourboundariesandourwills.Isearchhiseyesforsome
understanding,tryingtofathomhowthismancangofromragingcontrol
freaktoseductiveloverinonebreath.Hiseyesgrowlargeranddarker,his
intentionclear.Softly,hecaressesmycheek.
“Wecouldstayhere.”Hisisvoicelowandhusky.
Ohno.Myinnergoddessgazeslonginglydownatthewoodentable.No.No.
No.Notintheoffice.
“Christian,Idon’twanttohavesexhere.Yourmistresshasjustbeeninthis
room.”
321|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Shewasnevermymistress,”hegrowls,hismouthflatteningintoagrimline.
“That’sjustsemantics,Christian.”
Hefrowns,hisexpressionpuzzled.Theseductiveloverhasgone.
“Don’toverthinkthis,Ana.She’shistory,”hesaysdismissively.Isigh…
maybehe’sright.Ijustwanthimtoadmittohimselfthathecaresforher.A
chillgripsmyheart.Ohno.Thisiswhyit’simportanttome.SupposeIdo
somethingunforgivable.SupposeIdon’tconform.WillIbehistory,too?Ifhe
canturnlikethis,whenhewassoconcernedandupsetwhenLeilawasill…
couldheturnagainstme?Igasp,recallingthefragmentsofadream:gilt
mirrorsandthesoundofhisheelsclickingonthemarbledfloorasheleaves
mestandingaloneinopulentsplendor.
“No…”ThewordsareoutofmymouthinwhisperedhorrorbeforeIcanstop
them.
“Yes,”hesays,andgraspingmychinheleansdownandplantsatenderkiss
onmylips.
“Oh,Christian,youscaremesometimes.”Igrasphisheadinmyhands,twist
myfingersintohishair,andpullhislipstomine.Hestillsforamomentas
hisarmsfoldaroundme.
“Why?”
“Youcouldturnawayfromhersoeasily…”
Hefrowns.“AndyouthinkImightturnawayfromyou,Ana?Whythehell
wouldyouthinkthat?What’sbroughtthison?”
“Nothing.Kissme.Takemehome,”Iplead.Andashislipstouchmine,Iam
lost.
~o0o~
“Ohplease,”Ibeg,asChristianblowsgentlyonmysex.
“Allingoodtime,”hemurmurs.
Ipullonmyrestraintsandgroanloudlyinprotestfromhiscarnalassault.I’m
trussedupinsoftleathercuffs,eachelbowboundtoeachknee,and
Christian’sheadbobsandweavesbetweenmylegs,hismasterfultongue
teasingme,relentless.Iopenmyeyesandgazeunseeingatourbedroom
ceilingbathedinthesoftlateafternoonlight.Histonguemovesroundand
round,swirlingandcurlingoverand322|Page
ELJAMES
aroundthecenterofmyuniverse.Iwanttostraightenmylegsandstrugglein
avainattempttocontrolthepleasure.ButIcan’t.Myfingersfistinhishair
andItughardtofighthissublimetorture.
“Don’tcome,”hemurmursinwarningagainstme,hissoftbreathonmy
warm,wetfleshasheresistsmyfingers.“Iwillspankyouifyoucome.”
Imoan.
“Control,Ana.It’sallaboutcontrol.”Histonguerenewsitseroticincursion.
Oh,heknowswhathe’sdoing.Iamhelplesstoresistorstopmyslavish
reaction,andItry—reallytry—butmybodydetonatesunderhismerciless
ministrations,andhistonguedoesn’tstopashewringseverylastounceof
debilitatingpleasurefromme.
“Oh,Ana,”hescolds.“Youcame.”Hisvoiceissoftwithhistriumphant
reprimand.Heflipsmeontomyfront,andIshakilysupportmyselfonmy
forearms.Hesmacksmehardonmybehind.
“Ah!”Icryout.
“Control,”headmonishes,andgrabbingmyhipshethrustshimselfintome.I
cryoutagain,myfleshstillquiveringfromtheaftershocksofmyorgasm.He
stillswhiledeepinsidemeand,leaningover,unclipsfirstone,thenthe
secondcuff.Hewrapshisarmaroundmeandpullsmeintohislap,hisfront
tomyback,andhishandcurlsbeneathmychinaroundmythroat.Irevelin
thefeelingoffullness.
“Move,”heorders.
Imoanandriseupanddownonhislap.
“Faster,”hewhispers.
AndImovefasterandfaster.Hegroansandhishandtipsmyheadbackashe
nibblesmyneck.Hisotherhandtravelsleisurelyacrossmybody,frommy
hip,downtomysex,downtomyclitoris…stillsensitivefromhisearlier
lavishattention.Iwhimperashisfingersclosearoundme,teasingmeonce
more.
“Yes,Ana,”heraspssoftlyinmyear.“Youaremine.Onlyyou.”
“Yes,”Ibreatheasmybodytightensagain,closingaroundhim,cradlinghim
inthemostintimateway.
“Comeforme,”hedemands.
AndIletgo,mybodyobedientlyfollowinghiscommand.Heholdsmestill
asmyclimaxripsthroughmeandIcallouthisname.323|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Oh,Ana,Iloveyou,”hegroansandfollowsmyleadashebucksintome,
findinghisownrelease.
Hekissesmyshoulderandsmoothesmyhairfrommyface.“Doesthatmake
thelist,Mrs.Grey?”hemurmurs.Iamlying,barelyconscious,flatonmy
bellyonourbed.Christiangentlykneadsmybackside.He’sproppedup
besidemeononeelbow.
“Hmm.”
“Isthatayes?”
“Hmm.”Ismile.
Hegrinsandkissesmeagain,andreluctantlyIrollonmysidetofacehim.
“Well?”heasks.
“Yes.Itmakesthelist.Butit’salonglist.”
Hisfacenearlysplitsintwo,andheleansforwardtokissmegently.
“Good.Shallwehavedinner?”Hiseyesglowwithloveandhumor.Inod.I
amfamished.Ireachovertogentlypullthelittlehairsonhischest.
“Iwantyoutotellmesomething,”Iwhisper.
“What?”
“Don’tgetmad.”
“Whatisit,Ana?”
“Youdocare.”
Hiseyeswiden,andalltraceofhisgoodhumorvanishes.
“Iwantyoutoadmitthatyoucare.BecausetheChristianIknowandlove
wouldcare.”
Hestills,hiseyesnotleavingmine,andI’mwitnesstohisinternalstruggleas
ifhe’sabouttomakethejudgmentofSolomon.Heopenshismouthtosay
somethingthenclosesitagainassomefleetingemotioncrosseshisface…
pain,maybe.
Sayit,Iwillhim.
“Yes.Yes,Icare.Happy?”Hisvoiceisbarelyawhisper.Oh,thankfuckfor
that.It’sarelief.“Yes.Very.”
Hefrowns.“Ican’tbelieveI’mtalkingtoyounow,hereinourbed,about—”
Iputmyfingertohislips.
324|Page
ELJAMES
“We’renot.Let’seat.I’mhungry.”
Hesighsandshakeshishead.“Youbeguileandbewilderme,Mrs.Grey.”
“Good.”Ileanupandkisshim.
~o0o~
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:TheList
Date:September9,201109:33
To:ChristianGrey
That’sdefinitelyatthetop.
:D
Ax
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:TellMeSomethingNew
Date:September9,201109:42
To:AnastasiaGrey
You’vesaidthatforthelastthreedays.
Makeyourmindup.
Or…wecouldtrysomethingelse.
;)
ChristianGrey
CEO,EnjoyingthisGame,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Igrinatmyscreen.Thelastfeweveningshavebeen…entertaining.Wehave
relaxedagain,Leila’sbriefinterruptionforgotten.Ihaven’tquiteworkedup
thecouragetoaskifanyofher325|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
paintingshangonthewalls—andfrankly,Idon’treallycare.MyBlackBerry
buzzesandIanswer,expectingChristian.
“Ana?”
Whoisthis?
“Yes?”
“Ana,honey.It’sJoséSenior.”
“Mr.Rodriguez!Hi!”Myscalpprickles.WhatdoesJosé’sdadwantwithme?
“Honey,I’msorrytocallyouatwork.It’sRay.”Hisvoicefalters.
“Whatisit?What’shappened?”Myheartleapsintomythroat.
“Ray’sbeeninanaccident.”
OhNo.Daddy.Istopbreathing.
“He’sinthehospital.You’dbettergetherequick.”
326|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterSeventeen
“Mr.Rodriguez,what’shappened?”Myvoiceishoarseandthickwithunshed
tears.Ray.SweetRay.Mydad.
“He’sbeeninacaraccident.”
“Okay,I’llcome…I’llcomenow.”Adrenalinehasfloodedmybloodstream,
leavingpanicinitswake.I’mfindingitdifficulttobreathe.
“They’vetransferredhimtoPortland.”
Portland?WhatthehellishedoinginPortland?
“Theyairliftedhim,Ana.I’mheadingtherenow.OHSU.Oh,Ana,Ididn’t
seethecar.Ijustdidn’tseeit…”Hisvoicecracks.Mr.Rodriguez—no!
“I’llseeyouthere.”Mr.Rodriguezchokesandthelinegoesdead.Adark
dreadseizesmebythethroat,overwhelmingme.Ray.No.No.Itakeadeep
steadyingbreath,pickupthephoneandcallRoach.Heanswersonthesecond
ring.
“Ana?”
“Jerry.It’smyfather.”
“Ana,whathappened?”
Iexplain,barelypausingtobreathe.
“Go.Ofcourse,youmustgo.Ihopeyourfather’sokay.”
“Thankyou.I’llkeepyouinformed.”InadvertentlyIslamthephonedown,
butrightnowcouldn’tcareless.
“Hanna!”Icall,awareoftheanxietyinmyvoice.Momentslatershepokes
herheadaroundthedoortofindmepackingmypurseandgrabbingpapersto
stuffintomybriefcase.
“Yes,Ana?”Shefrowns.
“Myfatherhasbeeninanaccident.Ihavetogo.”
“Ohdear—”
“Cancelallmyappointmentstoday.AndMonday.You’llhavetofinish
preppingthee-bookpresentation—notesareinthesharedfile.GetCourtney
tohelpifyouhaveto.”
327|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Yes,”Hannawhispers.“Ihopehe’sokay.Don’tworryaboutanythinghere.
We’llmuddlethrough.”
“IhavemyBlackBerry.”
Theconcernetchedonherpinched,palefaceisalmostmyundoing.Daddy.
Igrabmyjacket,purse,andbriefcase.“I’llcallyouifIneedanything.”
“Do,please.Goodluck,Ana.Hopehe’sokay.”
Igiveherasmalltightsmile,fightingtomaintainmycomposure,andexitmy
office.Itryhardnottorunallthewaytoreception.Sawyerleapstohisfeet
whenIarrive.
“Mrs.Grey?”heasks,confusedbymysuddenappearance.
“We’regoingtoPortland—now.”
“Okay,ma’am,”hesays,frowningatmebutopeningthedoor.Movingis
good.
“Mrs.Grey,”Sawyerasksasweracetowardtheparkinglot.“CanIaskwhy
we’remakingthisunscheduledtrip?”
“It’smydad.He’sbeeninanaccident.”
“Isee.DoesMr.Greyknow?”
“I’llcallhimfromthecar.”
SawyernodsandopensthereardoortotheAudiSUVandIclimbin.With
shakingfingers,IreachformyBlackBerry,andIdialChristian’scell.
“Mrs.Grey.”Andrea’svoiceiscrispandbusinesslike.
“IsChristianthere?”Ibreathe.
“Um…he’ssomewhereinthebuilding,ma’am.He’slefthisBlackBerry
chargingwithme.”
Oh.Igroansilentlywithfrustration.
“CanyoutellhimIcalled,andthatIneedtospeakwithhim?It’surgent.”
“Icouldtryandtrackhimdown.Hedoeshaveahabitofwanderingoff
sometimes.”
“Justgethimtocallme,please,”Ibeg,fightingbacktears.
“Certainly,Mrs.Grey.”Shehesitates.“Iseverythingallright?”
“No,”Iwhisper,nottrustingmyvoice.“Please,justgethimtocallme.”
“Yes,ma’am.”
328|Page
ELJAMES
Ihangup.Icannotcontainmyanguishanylonger.Pullingmykneesuptomy
chest,Icurlupontherearseatandtearsooze,unwelcome,downmycheeks.
“WhereinPortland,Mrs.Grey?”Sawyerasksgently.
“OHSU,”Ichokeout.“Thebighospital.”
SawyerpullsoutintothestreetandheadsfortheI-5,whileIkeensoftlyin
thebackofthecar,mutteringwordlessprayers.Pleaselethimbeokay.Please
lethimbeokay.
Myphonerings.“YourLoveIsKing”startlingmefrommymantra.
“Christian,”Igasp.
“Christ,Ana.What’swrong?”
“It’sRay—he’sbeeninanaccident.”
“Shit!”
“Yes.IamonmywaytoPortland.”
“Portland?PleasetellmeSawyeriswithyou.”
“Yes,he’sdriving.”
“WhereisRay?”
“AtOHSU.”
Ihearamuffledvoiceinthebackground.“Yes,Ros,”Christiansnapsangrily.
“Iknow!Sorry,baby—Icanbethereinaboutthreehours.IhavebusinessI
needtofinishhere.I’llflydown.”
Ohshit.CharlieTangoisbackincommissionandlasttimeChristianflewher
…
“IhaveameetingwithsomeguysoverfromTaiwan.Ican’tblowthemoff.
It’sadealwe’vebeenhammeringoutformonths.”
WhydoIknownothingaboutthis?
“I’llleaveassoonasIcan.”
“Okay,”Iwhisper.AndIwanttosaythatit’sokay,hecanstayinSeattleand
sortouthisbusiness…butthetruthisIwanthimwithme.
“Oh,baby,”hewhispers.
“I’llbeokay,Christian.Takeyourtime.Don’trush.Idon’twanttoworry
aboutyou,too.Flysafely.”
“Iwill.”
“Loveyou.”
“Iloveyou,too,baby.I’llbewithyouassoonasIcan.KeepLukeclose.”
“Yes,Iwill.”
329|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’llseeyoulater.”
“Bye.”
Afterhangingup,Ihugmykneesoncemore.Iknownothingabout
Christian’sbusiness.WhatthehellishedoingwiththeTaiwanese?Igazeout
ofthewindowaswepassBoeingField-KingCountyairport.Hemustfly
safely…mystomachknotsanewandnauseathreatens.RayandChristian.I
don’tthinkmyheartcouldtakethat.Leaningback,Istartmymantraagain:
Pleaselethimbeokay.Pleaselethimbeokay.
“Mrs.Grey.”Sawyer’svoicerousesme.“We’reonthehospitalgrounds.Ijust
havetofindtheER.”
“Iknowwhereitis.”MymindflitsbacktomylastvisittoOHSU
when,onmysecondday,IfelloffastepladderatClaytons,twistingmy
ankle.IrecallPaulClaytonhoveringovermeandshudderatthememory.
Sawyerpullsuptothedrop-offpointandleapsouttoopenmydoor.
“I’llgopark,ma’am,andcomefindyou.Leaveyourbriefcase,I’llbringit.”
“Thankyou,Luke.”
Henods,andIwalkbrisklyintothebuzzingERreceptionarea.The
receptionistatthedeskgivesmeapolitesmile,andwithinafewmoments,
she’slocatedRayandissendingmetotheORonthethirdfloor.
OR?Fuck!“Thankyou,”Imutter,tryingtofocusonherdirectionstothe
elevators.MystomachlurchesasIalmostruntowardthem.
Lethimbeokay.Pleaselethimbeokay.
Theelevatorisagonizinglyslow,stoppingoneachfloor.Comeon…Come
on!Iwillittomovefaster,scowlingatthepeoplestrollinginandoutand
preventingmefromgettingtomydad.Finally,thedoorsopenonthethird
floorandIrushtoanotherreceptiondesk,thisonestaffedbynursesinnavy
uniforms.
“CanIhelpyou?”asksoneofficiousnursewithamyopicstare.
“Myfather,RaymondSteele.He’sjustbeenadmitted.He’sinOR4,Ithink.”
EvenasIsaythewordsIamwillingthemnottobetrue.
“Letmecheck,MissSteele.”
330|Page
ELJAMES
Inod,notbotheringtocorrectherasshegazesintentlyathercomputer
screen.
“Yes.He’sbeeninforacoupleofhours.Ifyou’dliketowait,I’llletthem
knowthatyou’rehere.Thewaitingroom’sthere.”Shepointstowardalarge
whitedoor,helpfullylabeledWAITINGROOMinboldbluelettering.
“Isheokay?”Iask,tryingtokeepmyvoicesteady.
“You’llhavetowaitforoneoftheattendingdoctortobriefyou,ma’am.”
“Thankyou,”Imutter—butinsideIamscreaming,Iwanttoknownow!
Iopenthedoortorevealafunctional,austerewaitingroom,whereMr.
RodriguezandJoséareseated.
“Ana!”Mr.Rodriguezgasps.Hisarmisinacast,andhischeekisbruisedon
oneside.He’sinawheelchairwithoneofhislegsinacasttoo.Igingerly
wrapmyarmsaroundhim.
“Oh,Mr.Rodriguez,”Isob.
“Ana,honey.”Hepatsmybackwithhisuninjuredarm.“I’msosorry,”he
mumbles,hishoarsevoicecracking.
Ohno.
“No,Papa,”Josésayssoftlyinadmonishmentashehoversbehindme.When
Iturn,hepullsmeintohisarmsandholdsme.
“José,”Imutter.AndI’mlost—tearsfallingasallthetension,fear,and
heartacheofthelastthreehourssurface.
“Hey,Ana,don’tcry.”Joségentlystrokesmyhair.Iwrapmyarmsaroundhis
neckandsoftlyweep.Westandlikethatforages,andI’msogratefulthatmy
friendishere.WepullapartwhenSawyerjoinsusinthewaitingroom.Mr.
Rodriguezhandsmeatissuefromaconvenientlyplacedbox,andIdrymy
tears.
“ThisisMr.Sawyer.Security,”Imurmur.SawyernodspolitelytoJoséand
Mr.Rodriguezthenmovestotakeaseatinthecorner.
“Sitdown,Ana.”Joséushersmetooneofthevinyl-coveredarmchairs.
“Whathappened?”Iask.“Doweknowhowheis?Whataretheydoing?”
Joséholdsuphishandstohaltmybarrageofquestionsandsitsdownbeside
me.“Wedon’thaveanynews.Ray,Dad,andIwereona331|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
fishingtriptoAstoria.Wewerehitbysomestupidfuckingdrunk—”
Mr.Rodrigueztriestointerrupt,stammeringanapology.
“Cálmate,Papa!”Josésnaps.“Idon’thaveamarkonme,”hecontinues.
“Justacoupleofbruisedribsandaknockonthehead.Dad…well,Dad
brokehiswristandankle.ButthecarhitthepassengersideandRay…”
Ohno,no…Panicswampsmylimbicsystemagain.No,no,no.Mybody
shuddersandchillsasIimaginewhat’shappeningtoRayintheOR.
“He’sinsurgery.WeweretakentothecommunityhospitalinAstoria,but
theyairliftedRayhere.Wedon’tknowwhatthey’redoing.We’rewaitingfor
news.”
Istarttoshake.
“Hey,Ana,youcold?”
Inod.I’minmywhitesleevelessshirtandblacksummerjacketandneither
provideswarmth.Gingerly,Josépullsoffhisleatherjacketandwrapsit
aroundmyshoulders.
“ShallIgetyousometea,ma’am?”Sawyerisbymyside.Inodgratefully
andhedisappearsfromtheroom.
“WhywereyoufishinginAstoria?”Iask.
Joséshrugs.“Thefishing’ssupposedtobegoodthere.Wewerehavinga
boys’get-together.Somebondingtimewithmyoldmanbeforeacademia
heatsupformyfinalyear.”José’sdarkeyesarelargeandluminouswithfear
andregret.
“Youcouldhavebeenhurt,too.AndMr.Rodriguez…worse.”Igulpatthe
thought.Mybodytemperaturedropsfurther,andIshiveroncemore.José
takesmyhand.
“Hell,Ana,you’refreezing.”
Mr.Rodriguezinchesforwardandtakesmyotherhandinhisonegoodhand.
“Ana,Iamsosorry.”
“Mr.Rodriguez,please.Itwasanaccident…”Myvoicefadestoawhisper.
“CallmeJosé,”hecorrectsme.Igivehimaweaksmile,becausethat’sallI
canmanage.Ishiveroncemore.
“Thepolicetooktheassholeintocustody.Seveninthemorningandtheguy
wasoutofhisskull,”Joséhissesindisgust.332|Page
ELJAMES
Sawyerreenters,bearingapapercupofhotwaterandaseparateteabag.He
knowshowItakemytea!I’msurprised,andgladforthedistraction.Mr.
RodriguezandJoséreleasemyhandsasItakethecupgratefullyfrom
Sawyer.
“Doyou…?”SawyerasksMr.RodriguezandJosé.Theybothshaketheir
heads,andSawyerresumeshisseatinthecorner.Idunkmyteabaginthe
waterand,risingshakily,disposeoftheusedbaginasmalltrashcan.
“What’stakingthemsolong?”ImuttertonooneinparticularasItakeasip.
Daddy…Pleaselethimbeokay.Pleaselethimbeokay.
“We’llknowsoonenough,Ana,”Josésaysgently.Inodandtakeanothersip.
Itakemyseatagainbesidehim.Wewait…andwait.Mr.Rodriguezwithhis
eyesclosed,prayingIthink,andJoséholdingmyhandandsqueezingitevery
nowandthen.Islowlysipmytea.It’snotTwinings,butsomecheapand
nastybrand,andittastesdisgusting.IrememberthelasttimeIwaitedfor
news.ThelasttimeIthoughtallwaslostwhenCharlieTangowentmissing.
Closingmyeyes,Iofferupasilentprayerforthesafepassageofmy
husband.Iglanceatmywatch:2:15p.m.Heshouldbeheresoon.Myteais
cold…Ugh!
Istandupandpacethensitdownagain.Whyhaven’tthedoctorsbeentosee
me?ItakeJosé’shand,andhegivesmineanotherreassuringsqueeze.Please
lethimbeokay.Pleaselethimbeokay.Timecrawlssoslowly.
Suddenlythedooropens,andweallglanceupexpectantly,mystomach
knotting.Isthisit?
Christianstridesin.Hisfacedarkensmomentarilywhenhenoticesmyhand
inJosé’s.
“Christian!”Igaspandleapup,thankingGodhe’sarrivedsafely.ThenI’m
wrappedinhisarms,hisnoseinmyhair,andI’minhalinghisscent,his
warmth,hislove.Asmallpartofmefeelscalmer,stronger,andmoreresilient
becausehe’shere.Oh,thedifferencehispresencemakestomypeaceof
mind.
“Anynews?”
Ishakemyhead,unabletospeak.
“José.”Henodsagreeting.
“Christian,thisismyfather,JoséSenior.”
333|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Mr.Rodriguez—wemetatthewedding.Itakeityouwereintheaccident,
too?”
Josébrieflyretellsthestory.
“Areyoubothwellenoughtobehere?”Christianasks.
“Wedon’twanttobeanywhereelse,”Mr.Rodriguezsays,hisvoicequietand
lacedwithpain.Christiannods.Takingmyhand,hesitsmedownthentakesa
seatbesideme.
“Haveyoueaten?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead.
“Areyouhungry?”
Ishakemyhead.
“Butyou’recold?”heasks,eyeingJosé’sjacket.
Inod.Heshiftsinhischair,butwiselysaysnothing.Thedooropensagain,
andayoungdoctorinbrightbluescrubsenters.Helooksexhaustedand
harrowed.
Ohno…AllthebloodseemstodisappearfrommyheadasIstumbletomy
feet.
“RaySteele,”IwhisperasChristianstandsbesideme,puttinghisarmaround
mywaist.
“You’rehisnextofkin?”thedoctorasks.Hisbrightblueeyesalmostmatch
hisscrubs,andunderanyothercircumstancesIwouldhavefoundhim
attractive.
“I’mhisdaughter,Ana.”
“MissSteele—”
“Mrs.Grey,”Christianinterruptshim.
“Myapologies,”thedoctorstammers,andforamomentIwanttokick
Christian.“I’mDoctorCrowe.Yourfatherisstable,butinacritical
condition.”
Fuck.Whatdoesthatmean?Mykneesbucklebeneathme,andonly
Christian’ssupportingarmpreventsmefromfallingtothefloor.
“Hesufferedsevereinternalinjuries,”Dr.Crowesays,“principallytohis
diaphragm,butwe’vemanagedtorepairthem,andwewereabletosavehis
spleen.Unfortunately,hesufferedacardiacarrestduringtheoperation
becauseofbloodloss.Wemanagedtogethisheartgoingagain,butthis
remainsaconcern.However,ourgravestconcernisthathesufferedsevere
contusionstothehead,andtheMRIshowsthathehasswellinginhisbrain.
We’veinducedacomatokeephimquietand334|Page
ELJAMES
stillwhilewemonitorthebrainswelling.”
Braindamage?No.
“It’sstandardprocedureinthesecases.Fornow,wejusthavetowaitand
see.”
“Andwhat’stheprognosis?”Christianaskscoolly.
“Mr.Grey,it’sdifficulttosayatthemoment.It’spossiblehecouldmakea
completerecovery,butthat’sinGod’shandsnow.”
“Howlongwillyoukeephiminacoma?”
“Thatdependsonhowhisbrainresponds.Usuallyseventy-twotoninety-six
hours.”
Ohno…solong!
“CanIseehim?”Iwhisper.
“Yes,youshouldbeabletoseehiminabouthalfanhour.He’sbeentakento
theICUonthesixthfloor.”
“Thankyou,Doctor.”
Dr.Crowenods,turnsandleavesus.
“Well,he’salive,”IwhispertoChristian.Andthetearsstarttorolldownmy
faceoncemore.
“Sitdown,”Christianordersgently.
“Papa,Ithinkweshouldgo.Youneedtorest.Wewon’tknowanythingfora
while.”JosémurmurstoMr.Rodriguezwhogazesblanklyathisson.“We
cancomebackthisevening,afteryou’verested.That’sokay,isn’tit,Ana?”
Joséturns,imploringme.
“Ofcourse.”
“AreyoustayinginPortland?”Christianasks.Josénods.
“Doyouneedaridehome?”
Joséfrowns.“Iwasgoingtoorderacab.”
“Lukecantakeyou.”
Sawyerstands,andJosélooksconfused.
“LukeSawyer,”Imurmurinclarification.
“Oh…Sure.Yeah,we’dappreciateit.Thanks,Christian.”
Standing,IhugMr.RodriguezandJoséinquicksuccession.
“Staystrong,Ana,”Joséwhispersinmyear.“He’safitandhealthyman.The
oddsareinhisfavor.”
“Ihopeso.”Ihughimhard.Then,releasinghim,Ishrugoffhisjackethandit
backtohim.
“Keepit,ifyou’restillcold.”
335|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“No,I’mokay.Thanks.”GlancingnervouslyupatChristian,Iseethathe’s
regardingusimpassively.Christiantakesmyhand.
“Ifthere’sanychange,I’llletyouknowrightaway,”IaddasJosé
pusheshisfather’swheelchairtowardthedoorthatSawyerisholdingopen.
Mr.Rodriguezraiseshishand,andtheypauseinthedoorway.
“He’sinmyprayers,Ana,”Mr.Rodriguezsays,hisvoicewavering.
“It’sbeensogoodtoreconnectwithhimafteralltheseyears.He’sbecomea
goodfriend.”
“Iknow.”
Andwiththattheyleave.ChristianandIarealone.Hecaressesmycheek.
“You’repale.Comehere.”Hesitsdownonthechairandpullsmeontohis
lap,foldingmeintohisarmsagain,andIgowillingly.Isnuggleupagainst
him,feelingoppressedbymystepfather’smisfortune,butgratefulthatmy
husbandisheretocomfortme.Hegentlystrokesmyhairandholdsmyhand.
“HowwasCharlieTango?”Iask.
Hegrins.“Oh,shewasyar,”hesays,quietprideinhisvoice.Itmakesme
smileproperlyforthefirsttimeinseveralhours,andIglanceathim,puzzled.
“Yar?”
“It’salinefromThePhiladelphiaStory.Grace’sfavoritefilm.”
“Idon’tknowit.”
“IthinkIhaveitonBlu-Rayathome.Wecanwatchitandmakeout.”He
kissesmyhairandIsmileoncemore.
“CanIpersuadeyoutoeatsomething?”heasks.
Mysmiledisappears.“Notnow.IwanttoseeRayfirst.”
Hisshouldersslump,buthedoesn’tpushme.
“HowweretheTaiwanese?”
“Amenable,”hesays.
“Amenablehow?”
“TheyletmybuytheirshipyardforlessthanthepriceIwaswillingtopay.”
He’sboughtashipyard?“That’sgood?”
“Yes.That’sgood.”
“ButIthoughtyouhadashipyard,overhere.”
“Ido.We’regoingtousethattodothefitting-out.BuildthehullsintheFar
East.It’scheaper.”
336|Page
ELJAMES
Oh.“Whatabouttheworkforceattheshipyardhere?”
“We’llredeploy.Weshouldbeabletokeepredundanciestoaminimum.”He
kissesmyhair.“ShallwegoandcheckonRay?”heasks,hisvoicesoft.
TheICUonthesixthfloorisastark,sterile,functionalwardwithwhispered
voicesandbleepingmachinery.Fourpatientsareeachhousedintheirown
separatearea,attachedtohundredsofthousandsofdollars’worthofhi-tech
equipment.Rayisatthefarend.Daddy.
Helookssosmallinhislargebed,surroundedbyallthistechnology.It’sa
shock.Mydadhasneverbeensmall.There’satubeinhismouth,andvarious
linespassthroughdripsintoaneedleineacharm.Asmallclampisattached
tohisfinger.Iwondervaguelywhatthat’sfor.Hislegisontopofthesheets,
encasedinabluecast.Amonitordisplayshisheartrate:beep,beep,beep.It’s
beatingstrongandsteady.ThisIknow.Imoveslowlytowardhim.Hischest
iscoveredinalarge,pristinebandagethatdisappearsbeneaththethinsheet
thatprotectshismodesty.
Daddy.
Irealizethatthetubepullingattherightcornerofhismouthleadstoa
ventilator.Itsnoiseisweavingwiththebeep,beep,beepofhisheartmonitor
intoapercussiverhythmicbeat.Sucking,expelling,sucking,expelling,
sucking,expellingintimewiththebeeps.Therearefourlinesonthescreen
ofhisheartmonitor,eachmovingsteadilyacross,demonstratingclearlythat
Rayisstillwithus.Oh,Daddy.
Tentatively,Ireachforhishand.Eventhoughhismouthisdistortedbythe
ventilatortube,helookspeaceful,lyingtherefastasleep.Apetiteyoungnurse
standstooneside,checkinghismonitors.
“CanItouchhim?”Iaskher.
“Yes,”shesmileskindly.HerbadgesaysKELLIERN,andshemustbein
hertwenties.She’sblondewithdark,darkeyes.Christianstandsattheendof
thebed,watchingmecarefullyasIclaspRay’shand.It’ssurprisinglywarm,
andthat’smyundoing.Isinkontothechairbythebed,placemyheadgently
againstRay’sarm,and337|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
starttosob.
“Oh,Daddy.Pleasegetbetter,”Iwhisper.“Please.”
Christianputshishandonmyshoulderandgivesitareassuringsqueeze.
“AllMr.Steele’svitalsaregood,”NurseKelliesaysquietly.
“Thankyou,”Christianmurmurs.Iglanceupintimetoseehergape.She’s
finallygottenagoodlookatmyhusband.Idon’tcare.Shecangapeat
Christianallshelikesaslongasshemakesmyfatherwellagain.
“Canhehearme?”Iask.
“He’sdeeplyasleep.Butwhoknows?”
“CanIsitforawhile?”
“Surething.”Shesmilesatme,hercheekspinkfromatelltaleblush.
Incongruously,Ifindmyselfthinkingblondisnothertruecolor.Christian
gazesdownatme,ignoringher.“Ineedtomakeacall.I’llbeoutside.I’ll
giveyousomealonetimewithyourdad.”
Inod.Hebends,kissesmyhair,andstalksoutoftheroom.Isitandhold
Ray’shand,marvelingattheironythatit’sonlynowwhenhe’sunconscious
andcan’thearmethatIreallywanttotellhimhowmuchIlovehim.This
manhasbeenmyconstant.Myrock.AndI’veneverthoughtaboutituntil
now.I’mnotfleshofhisflesh,buthe’smydad,andIlovehimsoverymuch.
Mytearstraildownmycheeks.Pleasegetbetter,Daddy.Veryquietly,soas
nottodisturbanyone,ItellhimaboutourweekendinAspenandaboutlast
weekendwhenweweresoaringandsailingaboardtheGrace.Itellhimabout
ournewhouse,ourplans,abouthowwehopetomakeitecologically
sustainable.IpromisetotakehimwithustoAspensohecangofishingwith
ChristianandassurehimthatMr.RodriguezandJoséwillbothbewelcome,
too…Pleasebeheretodothat,Daddy.Please.Rayremainsimmobile,the
ventilatorsuckingandexpellingandthemonotonousbutreassuringbeep,
beep,beepofhisheartmonitorhisonlyresponse.
WhenIlookup,Christianissittingquietlyattheendofthebed.Idon’tknow
howlonghe’sbeenthere.
“Hi,”hesays,hiseyesglowingwithcompassionandconcern.
“Hi.”
“So,I’mgoingfishingwithyourdad,Mr.Rodriguez,andJosé?”he338|Pa
ge
ELJAMES
asks.
Inod.
“Okay.Let’sgoeat.Lethimsleepinpeace.”
Ifrown.Idon’twanttoleavehim.
“Ana,he’sinacoma.I’vegivenourcellnumberstothenurseshere.Ifthere’s
anychange,they’llcallus.We’lleat,checkintoahotel,restup,thencome
backthisevening.”
ThesuiteattheHeathmanlooksjustasIrememberit.HowoftenhaveI
thoughtaboutthatfirstnightandmorningIspentwithChristianGrey,now
myhusband?Istandintheentrancetothesuite,paralyzed.Jeez,itallstarted
here.
“Homeawayfromhome,”saysChristian,hisvoicesoft,puttingmybriefcase
downbesideoneoftheoverstuffedcouches.
“Doyouwantashower?Abath?Whatdoyouneed,Ana?”
Christiangazesatme,andIknowhe’slost—mylostboydealingwithevents
beyondhiscontrol.He’sbeenwithdrawnandcontemplativeallafternoon.
Thisisasituationhecannotmanipulateandpredict.Thisisreallifeinthe
raw,andhe’skepthimselffromthatforsolong,he’sexposedandhelpless
now.Mysweet,shelteredFiftyShades.
“Abath.I’dlikeabath.”Imurmur,awarethatkeepinghimbusywillmake
himfeelbetter,usefuleven.Oh,Christian—I’mnumbandI’mcoldandI’m
scared,butI’msogladyou’reherewithme.
“Bath.Good.Yes.”Hestridesintothebedroomandoutofsightintothe
palatialbathroom.Afewmomentslater,theroarofwatergushingtofillthe
tubechoesfromtheroom.
Finally,Igalvanizemyselftofollowhimintothebedroom.I’mdismayedto
seeseveralbagsfromNordstromonthebed.Christianreenters,sleevesrolled
up,tieandjacketdiscarded.
“IsentTaylortogetsomethings.Nightwear.Youknow,”hesays,eyeingme
warily.
Ofcoursehedid.Inodmyapproval.WhereisTaylor?
“Oh,Ana,”Christianmurmurs.“I’venotseenyoulikethis.You’renormally
sobraveandstrong.”
Idon’tknowwhattosay.Imerelygazewide-eyedathim.Ihavenothing,
nothingtogiverightnow.IthinkI’minshock.Iwrapmy339|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
armsaroundmyself,tryingtokeepthepervadingcoldatbay,eventhoughI
knowit’safruitlesstaskasthiscoldcomesfromwithin.Christianpullsme
intohisarms.
“Baby,he’salive.Hisvitalsignsaregood.Wejusthavetobepatient,”he
murmurs.“Come.”Releasingme,hetakesmyhandandleadsmeintothe
bathroom.Gently,heslipsmyjacketoffmyshouldersandplacesitonthe
bathroomchair,thenturningback,heundoesthebuttonsonmyshirt.
Thewaterisdeliciouslywarmandfragrant,thesmelloflotusblossomheavy
inthewarm,sultryairofthebathroom.IliebetweenChristian’slegs,my
backtohisfront,myfeetrestingontopofhis.We’rebothquietand
introspective,andI’mfinallyfeelingwarm.IntermittentlyChristiankissesmy
hairasIabsentmindedlypopthebubblesinthefoam.Hisarmiswrapped
aroundmyshoulders.
“Youdidn’tgetintothebathwithLeila,didyou?Thattimeyoubathedher?”
Iask.Hestiffensandsnorts,hishandtighteningonmyshoulderwhereit
rests.
“Um…No.”Hesoundsastounded.
“Ithoughtso.Good.”
Hetugsgentlyatmyhairknottedinacrudebun,tiltingmyheadaroundsohe
canseemyface.“Whydoyouask?”
Ishrug.“Morbidcuriosity.Idon’tknow…seeingherthisweek.”
Hisfacehardens.“Isee.Lessofthemorbid.”Histoneisreproachful.
“Howlongareyougoingtosupporther?
“Untilshe’sonherfeet.Idon’tknow.”Heshrugs.“Why?”
“Arethereothers?”
“Others?”
“Exeswhoyousupport.”
“Therewasone,yes.Nolongerthough.”
“Oh?”
“Shewasstudyingtobeadoctor.She’squalifiednowandhassomeoneelse.”
“AnotherDominant?”
“Yes.”
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ELJAMES
“Leilasaysyouhavetwoofherpaintings,”Iwhisper.
“Iusedto.Ididn’treallycareforthem.Theyhadtechnicalmerit,butthey
weretoocolorfulforme.IthinkElliothasthem.Asweknow,hehasno
taste.”
Igiggle,andhewrapshisotherarmaroundme,sloshingwaterovertheside
ofthebath.
“That’sbetter,”hewhispersandkissesmytemple.
“He’smarryingmybestfriend.”
“ThenI’dbettershutmymouth,”hesays.
Ifeelmorerelaxedafterourbath.WrappedinmysoftHeathmanrobe,Igaze
atthevariousbagsonthebed.Jeez,thismustbemorethannightwear.
Tentatively,Ipeekintoone.Apairofjeansandapalebluehoodedsweatshirt,
mysize.Holycow…Taylor’sboughtawholeweekend’sworthofclothes,
andheknowswhatIlike.Ismile,rememberingthisisnotthefirsttimehe’s
shoppedforclothesformewhenIwasattheHeathman.
“ApartfromharassingmeatClaytons,haveyoueveractuallygoneintoa
storeandjustboughtstuff?”
“Harassingyou?”
“Yes.Harassingme.”
“Youwereflustered,ifIrecall.Andthatyoungboywasalloveryou.What
washisname?”
“Paul.”
“Oneofyourmanyadmirers.”
Irollmyeyesathim,andhesmilesarelieved,genuinesmileandkissesme.
“There’smygirl,”hewhispers.“Getdressed.Idon’twantyougettingcold
again.”
“Ready,”Imurmur.ChristianisworkingontheMacinthestudyareaofthe
suite.He’sdressedinblackjeansandagraycable-knitsweater,andI’m
wearingthejeans,thehoodie,andawhiteT-shirt.
“Youlooksoyoung,”Christiansayssoftly,glancingup,hiseyesglowing.
“Andtothinkyou’llbeawholeyearoldertomorrow.”His341|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
voiceiswistful.Igivehimacrookedsmile.
“Idon’tfeelmuchlikecelebrating.CanwegoseeRaynow?”
“Sure.Iwishyou’deatsomething.Youbarelytouchedyourlunch.”
“Christian,please.I’mjustnothungry.Maybeafterwe’veseenRay.Iwantto
wishhimgoodnight.”
AswearriveattheICU,wemeetJoséleaving.He’salone.
“Ana,Christian,hi.”
“Where’syourdad?”
“Hewastootiredtocomeback.Hewasinacaraccidentthismorning,”José
grinsruefully.“Andhispainkillershavekickedin.Hewasoutforthecount.I
hadtofighttogetintoseeRaysinceI’mnotnextofkin.”
“And?”Iaskanxiously.
“He’sgood,Ana.Same…butallgood.”
Relieffloodsmysystem.Nonewsisgoodnews.
“Seeyoutomorrow,birthdaygirl?”
“Sure.We’llbehere.”
JoséeyesChristianquicklythenpullsmeintoabriefhug.
“Mañana.”
“Goodnight,José.”
“Good-bye,José,”Christiansays.Josénodsandwalksondownthecorridor.
“He’sstillnutsaboutyou,”Christiansaysquietly.
“Nohe’snot.Andevenifheis…”IshrugbecauserightnowIjustdon’t
care.
Christiangivesmeatightsmile,andmyheartmelts.
“Welldone,”Imurmur.
Hefrowns.
“Fornotfrothingatthemouth.”
Hegapesatme,wounded—butamused,too.“I’veneverfrothed.Let’ssee
yourdad.Ihaveasurpriseforyou.”
“Surprise?”Myeyeswideninalarm.
“Come.”Christiantakesmyhand,andwepushopenthedoubledoorsofthe
ICU.
StandingattheendofRay’sbedisGraceindeepdiscussionwithCroweand
aseconddoctor,awomanI’venotseenbefore.Seeingus,342|Page
ELJAMES
Gracebeams.Oh,thankheavens.
“Christian.”ShekissesChristian’scheek,thenturnstomeandfoldsmeinher
warmembrace.
“Ana.Howareyouholdingup?”
“I’mfine.It’smyfatherI’mworriedabout.”
“He’singoodhands.DoctorSluderisanexpertinherfield.Wetrained
togetheratYale.”
Oh…
“Mrs.Grey,”Dr.Sludergreetsmeveryformally.She’sshort-hairedandelfin,
withashysmileandasoftsouthernaccent.“Astheleadphysicianforyour
father,I’mpleasedtotellyouthatallisontrack.Hisvitalsignsarestableand
strong.Wehaveeveryfaiththathe’llmakeacompleterecovery.Thebrain
swellinghasstopped,andshowssignsofdecreasing.Thisisveryencouraging
aftersuchashorttime.”
“That’sgoodnews,”Imurmur.
Shesmileswarmlyatme.“Itis,Mrs.Grey.We’retakingrealgoodcareof
him.”
“Greattoseeyouagain,Grace.”
Gracesmilesback.“Likewise,Lorraina.”
“Dr.Crowe,let’sleavethesegoodpeopletovisitwithMr.Steele.”
CrowefollowsinDr.Sluder’swaketotheexit.
IglanceoveratRay,andforthefirsttimesincehisaccident,Ifeelmore
hopeful.Dr.SluderandGrace’skindwordshaverekindledmyhope.
Gracetakesmyhandandsqueezesgently.“Ana,sweetheart,sitwithhim.
Talktohim.It’sallgood.I’llvisitwithChristianinthewaitingroom.”
Inod.Christiansmileshisreassuranceatme,andheandhismotherleaveme
withmybelovedfathersleepingpeacefullytothegentlelullabyofhis
ventilatorandheartmonitor.
IslipChristian’swhiteT-shirtonandgetintobed.
“Youseembrighter,”Christiansayscautiouslyashepullsonhispajamas.
“Yes.IthinktalkingtoDr.Sluderandyourmommadeabigdifference.Did
youaskGracetocomehere?”
343|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christianslidesintobedandpullsmeintohisarms,turningmetofaceaway
fromhim.
“No.Shewantedtocomeandcheckonyourdadherself.”
“Howdidsheknow?”
“Icalledherthismorning.”
Oh.
“Baby,you’reexhausted.Youshouldsleep.”
“Hmm,”Imurmurinagreement.He’sright.I’msotired.It’sbeenan
emotionalday.Icranemyheadaroundandgazeathimabeat.We’renot
goingtomakelove?AndI’mrelieved.Infact,he’shadatotallyhands-off
approachwithmeallday.IwonderifIshouldbealarmedbythisturnof
events,butsincemyinnergoddesshasleftthebuildingandtakenmylibido
withher,I’llthinkaboutitinthemorning.Iturnoverandsnuggleagainst
Christian,wrappingmylegoverhis.
“Promisemesomething,”hesayssoftly.
“Hmm?”It’saquestionthatIamtootiredtoarticulate.
“Promisemeyou’lleatsomethingtomorrow.Icanjustabouttolerateyou
wearinganotherman’sjacketwithoutfrothingatthemouth,but,Ana…you
musteat.Please.”
“Hmm,”Iacquiesce.Hekissesmyhair.“Thankyouforbeinghere,”I
mumbleandsleepilykisshischest.
“WhereelsewouldIbe?Iwanttobewhereveryouare,Ana.Beinghere
makesmethinkofhowfarwe’vecome.AndthenightIfirstsleptwithyou.
Whatanightthatwas.Iwatchedyouforhours.Youwerejust…yar,”he
breathes.Ismileagainsthischest.
“Sleep,”hemurmurs,andit’sacommand.Iclosemyeyesanddrift.
344|Page
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ChapterEighteen
Istir,openingmyeyestoabrightSeptembermorning.Warmandcomfortable
betweenclean,crispsheets,Itakeamomenttoorientatemyself,andam
overwhelmedbyasenseofdéjavu.Ofcourse—I’mattheHeathman.
“Shit!Daddy!”Igaspoutloud,recallingwithagut-wrenchingsurgeof
apprehensionthattwistsmyheartandstartsitpoundingwhyI’minPortland.
“Hey.”Christianissittingontheedgeofthebed.Hestrokesmycheekwith
hisknuckles,instantlycalmingme.“IcalledtheICUthismorning.Rayhada
goodnight.It’sallgood,”hesaysreassuringly.
“Oh,good.Thankyou,”Imutter,sittingup.
Hebendsandkissesmyforehead.“Goodmorning,Ana,”hewhispersand
kissesmytemple.
“Hi,”Imutter.He’supanddressedinablackT-shirtandbluejeans.
“Hi,”hereplies,hiseyessoftandwarm.“Iwanttowishyouhappybirthday.
Isthatokay?”
Iofferhimatentativesmileandcaresshischeek.“Yes,ofcourse.Thankyou.
Foreverything.”
Hisbrowfurrows.“Everything?”
“Everything.”
Helooksmomentarilyconfused,butit’sfleetingandhiseyeswidenwith
anticipation.“Here.”Hehandsmeasmall,exquisitelywrappedboxwitha
tinygiftcard.
InspiteoftheworryIfeelaboutmyfather,IsenseChristian’sanxietyand
excitement,andit’sinfectious.Ireadthecard.Forallourfirstsonyourfirst
birthdayasmybelovedwife.Iloveyou.
Cx
345|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ohmy,howsweetisthat?“Iloveyou,too,”Imurmur,smilingathim.
Hegrins.“Openit.”
Unwrappingthepapercarefullysoitdoesn’ttear,Ifindabeautifulredleather
box.Cartier.It’sfamiliar,thankstomysecond-chanceearringsandmy
watch.Cautiously,Iopentheboxtodiscoveradelicatecharmbraceletof
silver,orplatinumorwhitegold—Idon’tknow,butit’sabsolutely
enchanting.Attachedtoitareseveralcharms:theEiffelTower,aLondon
blackcab,ahelicopter—CharlieTango,aglider—thesoaring,acatamaran—
TheGrace,abed,andanicecreamcone?Ilookupathim,bemused.
“Vanilla?”Heshrugsapologetically,andIcan’thelpbutlaugh.Ofcourse.
“Christian,thisisbeautiful.Thankyou.It’syar.”
Hegrins.Myfavoriteistheheart.It’salocket.“Youcanputapictureor
whateverinthat.”
“Apictureofyou.”Iglanceathimthroughmylashes.“Alwaysinmyheart.”
Hesmileshislovely,heart-aching,shysmile.
Ifondlethelasttwocharms:aletterC—ohyes,Iwashisfirstgirlfriendor
whatevertousehisgivenname.Ismileatthethought.Andfinally,there’sa
key.
“Tomyheartandsoul,”hewhispers.
Tearsprickmyeyes.Ilaunchmyselfathim,curlingmyarmsaroundhisneck
andsettlingintohislap.“It’ssuchathoughtfulpresent.Iloveit.Thankyou,”
Imurmuragainsthisear.Oh,hesmellssogood—clean,offreshlinen,and
bodywashandChristian.Likehome,myhome.Mythreatenedtearsbeginto
fall.
Hegroanssoftlyandenfoldsmeinhisembrace.
“Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyou.”MyvoicecracksasItrytoholdback
theoverwhelmingswellofemotion.
Heswallowshard,andtightenshisholdonme.“Pleasedon’tcry.”
Isniffinaratherunladylikeway.“I’msorry.I’mjustsohappyandsadand
anxiousatthesametime.It’sbittersweet.”
“Hey.”Hisvoiceisfeathersoft.Tippingmyheadback,heplantsagentlekiss
onmylips.“Iunderstand.”
“Iknow,”Iwhisper,andI’mrewardedwithhisshysmileagain.
346|Page
ELJAMES
“Iwishwewereinhappiercircumstancesandathome.Butwe’rehere.”He
shrugsapologeticallyoncemore.“Come,upyougo.Afterbreakfast,we’ll
checkonRay.”Hekissesmegentlyoncemore,releasesme,andstandsup.
Oncedressedinmynewjeansandt-shirt,myappetitemakesabriefbut
welcomereturnduringbreakfastinoursuite.IknowChristianispleasedto
seemeeatingmygranolaandGreekyogurt.
“Thankyoufororderingmyfavoritebreakfast.”
“It’syourbirthday,”Christiansayssoftly.“Andyouhavetostopthanking
me.”Herollshiseyesinexasperation,butfondly,Ithink.
“IjustwantyoutoknowthatIappreciateit.”
“Anastasia,it’swhatIdo.”Hiseyesarewideandserious—ofcourse,
Christianincommandandcontrol.HowcouldIforget…andwouldIwant
himanyotherway?
Ismileathim.“Yes,itis.”
Hegivesmeapuzzledlookthenshakeshishead.“Shallwego?”
“I’lljustbrushmyteeth.”
Hesmirks.“Okay.”
Whyishesmirking?ThethoughtnagsmeasIheadintotheensuite.A
memoryspringsunbiddentomymind.IusedhistoothbrushafterIfirstspent
thenightwithhim.Ismirkintothemirrorandgrabhistoothbrushinhomage
tothatfirsttime.GazingatmyselfasIbrushmyteeth,I’mpale,toopale.But
thenI’malwayspale…lasttimeIwashereIwassingle…andnowI’m
marriedandtwenty-two!I’mgettingold.Irinseoutmymouth.Holdingup
mywristIshakeit,andthecharmsonmybraceletgiveasatisfyingrattle.
HowdoesmysweetFiftyalwaysknowexactlytherightthingtogiveme?I
takeadeepbreath,attemptingtostemtheemotionstilllurkinginmysystem,
andgazedownatthebraceletoncemore.Ibetitcostafortune…ahwell.He
canaffordit.
Aswewalktotheelevators,Christiantakesmyhandandkissesmyknuckles,
histhumbbrushingoverCharlieTangoonmybracelet.“Youlike?”
“Morethanlike.Iloveit.Verymuch.Likeyou.”
Hesmilesandkissesmyknucklesoncemore.IfeellighterthanI347|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
didyesterday.Perhapsbecauseit’smorningandtheworldalwaysseemsa
morehopefulplacethanitdoesinthedeadofnight.Ormaybeit’smy
husband’ssweetwake-up.Ormaybeit’sknowingthatRayisnoworse.
Aswestepintotheemptyelevator,IglanceupatChristian.Hiseyesflicker
quicklydowntomine,andhesmirksagain.
“Don’t,”hewhispersasthedoorsshut.
“Don’twhat?”
“Lookatmelikethat.”
“Fuckthepaperwork,”Imutter,grinning.Helaughs,andit’ssuchacarefree,
boyishsound.Hetugsmeintohisarmsandtiltsmyheadup.
“Someday,I’llrentthiselevatorforawholeafternoon.”
“Justtheafternoon?”Iarchmybrow.
“Mrs.Grey,youaregreedy.”
“Whenitcomestoyou,Iam.”
“I’mverygladtohearit.”Hekissesmegently,achastekiss.AndIdon’t
knowifit’sbecauseweareinthiselevatororbecausehe’snottouchedmein
overtwenty-fourhoursorifhe’sjustmyintoxicatinghusband,butdesire
unwindsandstretcheslazilydeepinmybelly.Irunmyfingersintohishair
anddeepenthekiss,pushinghimagainstthewallandbringingmybodyflush
againsthis.Hegroansintomymouthandcupsmyhead,cradlingmeaswe
kiss—reallykiss,ourtonguesexploringtheoh-so-familiarbutstillohso-new,
oh-so-excitingterritorythatistheother’smouth.Myinnergoddessswoons,
bringingmylibidobackfrompurdah.Icaresshisdear,dearfaceinmyhands.
“Ana,”hebreathes.
“Iloveyou,ChristianGrey.Don’tforgetthat,”IwhisperasIgazeinto
darkeninggrayeyes.
Theelevatorcomessmoothlytoahaltandthedoorsopen.
“Let’sgoandseeyourfatherbeforeIdecidetorentthistoday.”Hekissesme
quickly,takesmyhand,andleadsmeintothelobby.Aswewalkpastthe
concierge,Christiangivesadiscreetsignaltothekindlymiddle-agedman
standingbehindthedesk.Henodsandpicksuphisphone.Iglance
questioninglyatChristian,andhegivesmehissecretsmile.Ohno…what’s
this?Ifrownathim,andforamomenthelooksnervous.
348|Page
ELJAMES
“Where’sTaylor?”Iask.
“We’llseehimshortly.”
Ofcourse,he’sprobablyfetchingthecar.“Sawyer?”
“Runningerrands.”
Whaterrands?
Christianavoidstherevolvingdoor,andIknowit’ssohedoesn’thaveto
releasemyhand.Thethoughtwarmsme.Outsideit’samildlate-summer
morning,butthescentofthecomingfallisinthebreeze.Iglancearound,
lookingfortheAudiSUVandTaylor.Nosign.Christian’shandtightens
aroundmine,andIlookupathim.Heseemsanxious.
“Whatisit?”
Heshrugs.Thehumofanapproachingcarenginedistractsme.It’sthroaty…
familiar.AsIturntofindthesourceofthenoise,itstopssuddenly.Tayloris
climbingoutofasleekwhitesportscarparkedinfrontofus.What?
Ohshit!It’sanR8.IwhipmyheadbacktoChristian,who’swatchingme
warily.“Youcanbuymeoneformybirthday…awhiteone,Ithink.”
“Happybirthday,”hesays,andIknowhe’sgaugingmyreaction.Igapeat
himbecausethat’sallIcando.Heholdsoutakey.
“Youarecompletelyoverthetop,”Iwhisper.He’sboughtmeafuckingAudi
R8!Holyshit.JustlikeIasked!Myfacesplitsinahugegrin,andmyinner
goddessdoesabackflipoffthehighdive.Ijumpupanddownonthespotina
momentofunguardedandunbridledoverexcitement.Christian’sexpression
mirrorsmine,andIdanceforwardintohiswaitingarms.Heswingsme
around.
“Youhavemoremoneythansense!”Iwhoop.“Iloveit!Thankyou.”He
stopsanddipsmelowsuddenly,startlingme,sothatIhavetograsphisupper
arms.
“Anythingforyou,Mrs.Grey.”Hegrinsdownatme.Ohmy.Whatavery
publicdisplayofaffection.Hebendsandkissesme.“Come.Let’sgoseeyour
dad.”
“Yes.AndIgettodrive?”
Hegrinsdownatme.“Ofcourse.It’syours.”Hestandsmeupandreleases
me,andIhurryaroundtothedriver’sdoor.Tayloropensitforme,smiling
broadly.“Happybirthday,Mrs.349|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Grey.”
“Thankyou,Taylor.”Istartlehimbygivinghimaswifthug,whichhereturns
awkwardly.He’sstillblushingwhenIclimbintothecar,andheclosesthe
doorpromptlyonceI’minside.
“Drivesafe,Mrs.Grey,”hesaysgruffly.Ibeamupathim,barelyableto
containmyexcitement.
“Willdo.”Ipromise,puttingthekeyintheignitionasChristianstretchesout
besideme.
“Takeiteasy.Nobodychasingusnow,”hewarns.WhenIturnthekey,the
enginethunderstolife.Ichecktherearviewandsidemirrors,andspottinga
raremomentofcleartraffic,executeahugeperfectUturnandroaroffinthe
directionofOSHU.
“Whoa!”Christianexclaims,alarmed.
“What?”
“Idon’twantyouintheICUbesideyourfather.Slowdown,”hegrowls,not
tobearguedwith.Ieaseofftheacceleratorandgrinathim.
“Better?”
“Much,”hemutters,tryinghardtolookstern—andfailingmiserably.
Ray’sconditionisthesame.Seeinghimgroundsmeaftertheheadyroadtrip
here.Ireallyshoulddrivemorecarefully.Youcan’tlegislateforeverydrunk
driverinthisworld.ImustaskChristianwhat’sbecomeoftheassholewho
hitRay—I’msureheknows.Inspiteofthetubes,myfatherlooks
comfortable,andIthinkhehasalittlemorecolorinhischeeks.WhileIsit
besidemydadandtellhimaboutmymorning,Christianwandersofftothe
waitingroomtomakephonecalls.
NurseKelliehoversoverhim,checkinghislinesandmakingnotesonhis
chart.“Allhissignsaregood,Mrs.Grey.”Shesmileskindlyatme.
“That’sveryencouraging.”
AlittlelaterDr.Croweappearswithtwonursingassistants.
“Mrs.Grey,”hegreetsmewarmly.“Timetotakeyourfatheruptoradiology.
We’regivinghimaCTscan.Toseehowhisbrainisdoing.”
“Willyoubelong?”
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“Uptoanhour.”
“I’llwait.I’dliketoknow.”
“Surething,Mrs.Grey.”
IwanderintothethankfullyemptywaitingroomwhereChristianistalkingon
thephone,pacing.Ashespeaks,hegazesoutofthewindowatthepanoramic
viewofPortland.HeturnstomewhenIshutthedoor,andhelooksangry.
“Howfarabovethelimit?…Isee…Allcharges,everything.Ana’sfatheris
intheICU—Iwantyoutothrowthefuckingbookathim,Dad…Good.
Keepmeinformed.”Hehangsup.
“Theotherdriver?”
Henods.“SomedrunkentrailertrashfromSoutheastPortland.”Hesneers,
andI’mshockedbyhisterminologyandhisderisorytone.Hewalksoverto
me,andhistonesoftens.
“FinishedwithRay?Doyouwanttogo?”
“Um…no.”Ipeerupathim,stillreelingathisdisplayofcontempt.
“What’swrong?”
“Nothing.Ray’sbeingtakentoradiologyforaCTscantochecktheswelling
inhisbrain.I’dliketowaitfortheresults.”
“Okay.We’llwait.”Hesitsdownandholdsouthishands.Aswe’realone,I
gowillinglyandcurlupinhislap.
“ThisisnothowIenvisagedspendingtoday,”Christianmurmursintomy
hair.
“Meneither,butI’mfeelingmorepositivenow.Yourmomwasvery
reassuring.Itwaskindofhertocomelastnight.”
Christianstrokesmybacksoothingly,restinghischinonmyhead.
“Mymomisanamazingwoman.”
“Sheis.You’reveryluckytohaveher.”
Christiannods.
“Ishouldcallmymom.TellheraboutRay,”ImurmurandChristianstiffens.
“I’msurprisedshehasn’tcalledme.”Iaddinamomentofrealization.Infact,
Ifeelhurt.It’smybirthdayafterall,andshewastherewhenIwasborn.Why
hasn’tshecalled?
“Maybeshedid,”Christiansays.IfishmyBlackBerryoutofmypocket.It
showsnomissedcalls,butquiteafewtexts:happybirthdaysfromKate,José,
Mia,andEthan.Nothingfrommymother.Ishakemy351|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
headdespondently.
“Callhernow,”hesayssoftly.Ido,butthere’snoreply,justtheanswering
machine.Idon’tleaveamessage.Howcanmyownmotherforgetmy
birthday?
“She’snotthere.I’llcalllaterwhenIknowtheresultsofthebrainscan.”
Christiantightenshisarmsaroundme,nuzzlingmyhaironcemore,and
wiselymakesnocommentonmymother’slackofmaternalconcern.Ifeel
ratherthanhearthebuzzofhisBlackBerry.Hedoesn’tletmestandupbut
fishesitawkwardlyoutofhispocket.
“Andrea,”hesnaps,businesslikeagain.Imakeanothermovetostandandhe
stopsme,frowningandholdingmetightlyaroundmywaist.Inestleback
againsthischestandlistentotheone-sidedconversation.
“Good…ETAiswhattime?…Andtheother,um…packages?”
Christianglancesathiswatch.“DoestheHeathmanhaveallthedetails?…
Good…Yes.ItcanholduntilMondaymorning,butemailjustincase—I’ll
print,sign,andscanitbacktoyou…Theycanwait.Gohome,Andrea…
No,we’regood,thankyou.”Hehangsup.
“Everythingokay?”
“Yes.”
“IsthisyourTaiwanthing?”
“Yes.”Heshiftsbeneathme.
“AmItooheavy?”
Hesnorts.“No,baby.”
“AreyouworriedabouttheTaiwanthing?”
“No.”
“Ithoughtitwasimportant.”
“Itis.Theshipyardheredependsonit.Therearelotsofjobsatstake.”
Oh!
“Wejusthavetosellittotheunions.That’sSamandRos’sjob.Buttheway
theeconomy’sheading,noneofushavealotofchoice.”
Iyawn.
“AmIboringyou,Mrs.Grey?”Henuzzlesmyhairagain,amused.
“No!Never…I’mjustverycomfortableonyourlap.Ilikehearingabout
yourbusiness.”
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“Youdo?”Hesoundssurprised.
“Ofcourse.”Ileanbacktogazedirectlyathim.“Ilikehearinganybitof
informationyoudeigntosharewithme.”Ismirk,andheregardsmewith
amusementandshakeshishead.
“Alwayshungryformoreinformation,Mrs.Grey.”
“Tellme.”IurgehimasIsnuggleupagainsthischestagain.
“Tellyouwhat?”
“Whyyoudoit.”
“Dowhat?”
“Workthewayyoudo.”
“Aguy’sgottoearnaliving.”He’samused.
“Christian,youearnmorethanaliving.”Myvoiceisfullofirony.Hefrowns
andisquietforamoment.Ithinkhe’snotgoingtodivulgeanysecrets,buthe
surprisesme.
“Idon’twanttobepoor,”hesays,hisvoicelow.“I’vedonethat.I’mnot
goingbackthereagain.Besides…it’sagame,”hemurmurs.
“It’saboutwinning.AgameI’vealwaysfoundveryeasy.”
“Unlikelife,”Imurmurtomyself.ThenIrealizeIsaidthewordsoutloud.
“Yes,Isuppose.”Hefrowns.“Thoughit’seasierwithyou.”
Easierwithme?Ihughimtightly.“Itcan’tallbeagame..You’revery
philanthropic.”
Heshrugs,andIknowhe’sgrowinguncomfortable.“Aboutsomethings,
maybe,”hesaysquietly.
“IlovephilanthropicChristian,”Imurmur.
“Justhim?”
“Oh,IlovemegalomaniacChristian,too,andcontrol-freakChristian,
sexpertiseChristian,kinkyChristian,romanticChristian,shyChristian…the
listisendless.”
“That’sawholelotofChristians.”
“I’dsayatleastfifty.”
Helaughs.“FiftyShades,”hemurmursintomyhair.
“MyFiftyShades.”
Heshifts,tippingmyheadback,andkissesme.“Well,Mrs.Shades,let’ssee
howyourdadisdoing.”
“Okay.”
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FiftyShadesFreed
“Canwegoforadrive?”
ChristianandIarebackintheR8,andI’mfeelinggiddilybuoyant.Ray’s
brainisbacktonormal—allswellinggone.Dr.Sluderhasdecidedtowake
himfromhiscomatomorrow.Shesaysshe’spleasedwithhisprogress.
“Sure.”Christiangrinsatme.“It’syourbirthday—wecandoanythingyou
want.”
Oh!Histonemakesmeturnandgazeathim.Hiseyesaredark.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Howmuchpromisecanheloadintooneword?
“Well,Iwanttodrive.”
“Thendrive,baby.”Hegrins,andIgrinback.
Mycarhandleslikeadream,andaswehittheI-5,Isubtlyputmyfootdown,
forcingusbothbackinourseats.
“Steady,baby,”Christianwarns.
AswedrivebackintoPortlandanideaoccurstome.
“Haveyouplannedlunch?”IaskChristiantentatively.
“No.You’rehungry?”Hesoundshopeful.
“Yes.”
“Wheredoyouwanttogo?It’syourday,Ana.”
“Iknowjusttheplace.”
IpullupnearthegallerywhereJoséexhibitedhisworkandparkrightoutside
theLePicotinrestaurantwherewewentafterJosé’sshow.Christiangrinsat
me.
“ForoneminuteIthoughtyouweregoingtotakemetothatdreadfulbaryou
drunkdialedmefrom.”
“WhywouldIdothat?”
“Tochecktheazaleasarestillalive.”Hearchesasardonicbrow.Iblush.
“Don’tremindme!Besides…youstilltookmetoyourhotelroom.”Ismirk.
“BestdecisionIevermade,”hesays,hiseyessoftandwarm.
“Yes.Itwas.”Ileanoverandkisshim.
“Doyouthinkthatsuperciliousfuckerisstillwaitingtables?”
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Christianasks.
“Supercilious?Ithoughthewasfine.”
“Hewastryingtoimpressyou.”
“Well,hesucceeded.”
Christian’smouthtwistsinamuseddisgust.
“Shallwegosee?”Ioffer.
“Leadon,Mrs.Grey.”
AfterlunchandaquickdetourtotheHeathmantopickupChristian’slaptop,
wereturntothehospital.IspendtheafternoonwithRay,readingaloudfrom
oneofthemanuscriptsI’vebeensent.Myonlyaccompanimentisthesound
ofthemachinerykeepinghimalive,keepinghimwithme.NowthatIknow
he’smakingprogress,Icanbreathealittleeasierandrelax.I’mhopeful.He
justneedstimetogetwell.I’vegottime—Icangivehimthat.Iwonderidly
ifIshouldtrycallingMomagain,butdecidetodoitlater.IholdRay’shand
looselyasIreadtohim,squeezingitoccasionally,willinghimtobewell.His
fingersfeelsoftandwarmbeneathmytouch.Hestillhastheindentationon
hisfingerwhereheworehisweddingring—evenafterallthistime.
Anhourortwolater,Idon’tknowhowlong,IglanceuptoseeChristian,
laptopinhand,standingattheendofRay’sbedwithNurseKellie.
“It’stimetogo,Ana.”
Oh.IclaspRay’shandtightly.Idon’twanttoleavehim.
“Iwanttofeedyou.Come.It’slate.”Christiansoundsinsistent.
“I’mabouttogiveMr.Steeleaspongebath.”NurseKelliesays.
“Okay.”Iconcede.“We’llbebacktomorrowmorning.”
IbendandkissRayonhischeek,feelinghisunfamiliarstubblebeneathmy
lips.Idon’tlikeit.Keepgettingbetter,Daddy.Iloveyou.
“Ithoughtwe’ddinedownstairs.Inaprivateroom,”Christiansays,agleam
inhiseyeasheopensthedoortooursuite.
“Really?Finishwhatyoustartedafewmonthsago?”
Hesmirks.“Ifyou’reverylucky,Mrs.Grey.”
355|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ilaugh.“Christian,Idon’thaveanythingdressytowear.”
Hesmiles,holdsouthishand,andleadsmeintothebedroom.Heopensthe
wardrobetorevealalargeplainwhitedressbaghanginginside.
“Taylor?”Iask.
“Christian,”hereplies,forcefulandwoundedatonce.Histonemakesme
laugh.Unzippingthebag,Ifindanavysatindressandeaseitout.It’s
gorgeous—fittedwiththinstraps.Itlookssmall.
“It’slovely.Thankyou.Ihopeitfits.”
“Itwill,”hesaysconfidently.“Andhere”—bendingdown,hepicksupa
shoebox—“shoestomatch.”Hegivesmeawolfishsmile.
“Youthinkofeverything.Thankyou.”Istretchupandkisshim.
“Ido.”Hehandsmeyetanotherbag.
Igazeathimquizzically.Insideisablackstraplessbodysuitwithacentral
paneloflace.Hecaressesmyface,tiltsmychin,andkissesme.
“Ilookforwardtotakingthisoffyoulater.”
Freshoutofmybath,washed,shavedandfeelingpampered,Isitontheedge
ofthebedandstartupthehairdryer.Christianwandersintothebedroom.I
thinkhe’sbeenworking.
“Here,letme,”hesays,pointingtothechairinfrontofthedressingtable.
“Drymyhair?”
Henods.Iblinkathim.
“Come,”hesays,regardingmeintently.Iknowthatexpression,andIknow
betterthantodisobey.Slowlyandmethodicallyhedriesmyhair,onelockata
time.He’sobviouslydonethisbefore…often.
“You’renostrangertothis,”Imurmur.Hissmileisreflectedinthemirror,but
hesaysnothingandcontinuestobrushthroughmyhair.Hmm…it’svery
relaxing.
Whenwestepintotheelevatoronourwaytodinner,wearenotalone.
Christianlooksdeliciousinhissignaturewhitelinenshirt,blackjeansand
jacket.Notie.Thetwowomeninsideshootadmiringglancesathimandless
generousonesatme.Ihidemysmile.Yes,ladies,he’s356|Page
ELJAMES
mine.Christiantakesmyhandandpullsmecloseaswetravelinsilencedown
tothemezzaninelevel.
It’sbusy,fullofpeopledressedupfortheevening,sittingaroundchattingand
drinking,startingtheirSaturdaynight.IamgratefulthatIfitin.Thedress
hugsme,skimmingovermycurvesandholdingeverythinginplace.Ihaveto
say,Ifeel…attractivewearingit.IknowChristianapproves.
Atfirst,Ithinkwe’reheadedfortheprivatediningroomwherewefirst
discussedthecontract,butheleadsmepastthatdoorwayandontothefar
endwhereheopensthedoortoanotherwoodpaneledroom.
“Surprise!”
Ohmy.KateandElliot,MiaandEthan,CarrickandGrace,Mr.Rodriguez
andJosé,andmymotherandBobareallthereraisingtheirglasses.Istand
gapingatthem,speechless.How?When?IturninconsternationtoChristian,
andhesqueezesmyhand.Mymomstepsforwardandwrapsherarmsaround
me.Oh,Mom!
“Darling,youlookbeautiful.Happybirthday.”
“Mom!”Isob,embracingher.OhMommy,Mommy,Mommy.Tearsstream
downmyfacedespiteoftheaudience,andIburymyfaceinherneck.
“Honey,darling.Don’tcry.Raywillbeokay.He’ssuchastrongman.Don’t
cry.Notonyourbirthday.”Hervoicecracks,butshemaintainsher
composure.Shegraspsmyfaceinherhandsandwithherthumbswipesaway
mytears.
“Ithoughtyou’dforgotten.”
“Oh,Ana!HowcouldI?Seventeenhoursoflaborisnotsomethingyoueasily
forget.”
Igigglethroughmytears.Shesmiles.
“Dryyoureyes,honey.Lotsofpeopleareheretoshareyourspecialday.”
Isniff,notwantingtolookatanyoneelseintheroom,embarrassedand
thrilledthateveryonehasmadesuchanefforttocomeandseeme.
“Howdidyougethere?Whendidyouarrive?”
“Yourhusbandsenthisplane,darling.”Shegrins,impressed.AndIlaugh.
“Thankyouforcoming,Mom.”Shewipesmynosewithatissueasonlya
motherwould.“Mom!”Iscold,composingmyself.
357|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“That’sbetter.Happybirthday,darling.”Shestepsasidewhileeveryonelines
uptohugmeandwishmehappybirthday.
“He’sdoingwell,Ana.Dr.Sluderistheoneofthebestinthecountry.Happy
birthday,Angel.”Gracehugsme.
“Youcryallyouwantto,Ana—it’syourparty.”Joséembracesme.
“Happybirthday,darlinggirl.”Carricksmiles,cuppingmyface.
“S’upbabe?Youroldmanwillbefine.”Elliotenfoldsmeinhisarms.
“Happybirthday.”
“Okay.”Takingmyhand,ChristianpullsmefromElliot’sembrace.
“Enoughfondlingmywife.Gofondleyourfiancée.”
ElliotgrinswickedlyathimandwinksatKate.
AwaiterIhadn’tnoticedbeforepresentsChristianandmewithglassesof
pinkchampagne.
Christianclearshisthroat.“ThiswouldbeaperfectdayifRaywereherewith
us,buthe’snotfaraway.He’sdoingwell,andIknowhe’dlikeyoutoenjoy
yourself,Ana.Toallofyou,thankyouforcomingtosharewithmemy
beautifulwife’sbirthday,thefirstofmanytocome.Happybirthday,my
love.”Christianraiseshisglasstomeamidachorusofhappybirthdays,andI
havetofightagaintokeepmytearsatbay.
Iwatchtheanimatedconversationsaroundthedinnertable.It’sstrangetobe
cocoonedinthebosomofmyfamily,knowingthemanIconsidermyfatheris
onalifesupportmachineinthecoldclinicalenvironsoftheICU.I’m
detachedfromalltheproceedingsbutgratefulthatthey’reallhere.Watching
thesparringbetweenElliotandChristian,José’sreadywarmwit,Mia’s
excitementandherenthusiasmforthefood,Ethanslylywatchingher.Ithink
helikesher…thoughit’shardtotell.Mr.Rodriguezissittingback,likeme,
enjoyingtheconversations.Helooksbetter.Rested.Joséisveryattentiveto
him,cuttinghisfood,keepinghisglassfilled.Havinghissurvivingparent
comesoclosetodeathhasmadeJoséappreciateMr.Rodriguezmore…I
know.IgazeatMom.She’sinherelement,charming,witty,andwarm.Ilove
hersomuch.Imustremembertotellher.Lifeissoprecious,Irealizethat
now.
“Youokay?”Kateasksinanuncharacteristicallygentlevoice.358|Page
ELJAMES
Inodandclaspherhand.“Yes.Thanksforcoming.”
“YouthinkMr.Megabuckscouldkeepmeawayfromyouonyourbirthday?
Wegottoflyinthehelicopter!”Shegrins.
“Really?”
“Yes.Allofus.AndtothinkChristiancanflyit.”
Inod.
“That’skindahot.”
“Yeah,Ithinkso.”
Wegrin.
“Areyoustayingheretonight?”Iask.
“Yes.Weallare,Ithink.Youknewnothingaboutthis?”
Ishakemyhead.
“Smooth,isn’the?”
Inod.
“Whatdidhegetyouforyourbirthday?”
“This.”Iholdupmybracelet.
“Oh,cute!”
“Yes.”
“London,Paris…icecream?”
“Youdon’twanttoknow.”
“Icanguess.”
Welaugh,andIblush,recallingBen&Jerry’s&Ana.
“Oh…andanR8.”
Katespitsherwineratherunattractivelydownherchin,makingusbothlaugh
somemore.
“Overthetopbastard,isn’the?”Shegiggles.
FordessertIampresentedwithasumptuouschocolatecakeblazingwith
twenty-twosilvercandles,andarousingchorusof“HappyBirthday.”Grace
watchesChristiansingingwiththerestofmyfriendsandfamily,andhereyes
shinewithlove.Catchingmyeye,sheblowsmeakiss.
“Makeawish,”Christianwhisperstome.InonebreathIblowoutallthe
candles,ferventlywillingmyfatherbetter.Daddy,getwell.Pleasegetwell.I
loveyouso.
359|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Atmidnight,Mr.RodriguezandJosétaketheirleave.
“Thankyousomuchforcoming.”IhugJosétightly.
“Wouldn’tmissitfortheworld.GladRay’sheadingintherightdirection.”
“Yes.You,Mr.Rodriguez,andRayhavetocomefishingwithChristianin
Aspen.”
“Yeah?Soundscool.”Joségrinsbeforeheleavestofetchhisfather’scoat,
andIcrouchdowntosaygoodbyetoMr.Rodriguez.
“YouknowAna,therewasatime…well,IthoughtyouandJosé…”His
voicefades,andhegazesatme,hisdarkgazeintensebutloving.
Ohno.
“I’mveryfondofyourson,Mr.Rodriguez,buthe’slikeabrothertome.”
“Youwouldhavemadeonefinedaughter-in-law.Andyoudo.TotheGreys.”
HesmileswistfullyandIblush.
“Ihopeyou’llsettleforfriend.”
“Ofcourse.Yourhusbandisafineman.Youchosewell,Ana.”
“Ithinkso,”Iwhisper.“Ilovehimso.”IhugMr.Rodriguez.
“Treathimgood,Ana.”
“Iwill,”Ipromise.
Christianclosesthedoortooursuite.
“Aloneatlast,”hemurmurs,leaningbackagainstthedoor,watchingme.
Isteptowardhimandrunmyfingersoverthelapelsofhisjacket.
“Thankyouforawonderfulbirthday.Youreallyarethemostthoughtful,
considerate,generoushusband.”
“Mypleasure.”
“Yes…yourpleasure.Let’sdosomethingaboutthat,”Iwhisper.Tightening
myhandsaroundhislapels,Ipullhislipstomine.
~o0o~
Afteracommunalbreakfast,Iopenallmypresentsthengivea360|Page
ELJAMES
seriesofcheerygoodbyestoalltheGreysandtheKavanaghswhowillbe
returningtoSeattleviaCharlieTango.Mymom,Christian,andIheadupto
thehospitalwithTaylordrivingsincethethreeofuswouldnotfitintomyR8.
Bobhasdeclinedtovisit,andI’msecretlyglad.It’dbejusttooweird,and
I’msureRaywouldn’tappreciateBobseeinghimatanythinglessthanhis
best.
Raylooksmuchthesame.Hairier.Momisshockedwhensheseeshim,and
togetherwecryalittlemore.
“Oh,Ray.”Shesqueezeshishandandgentlystrokeshisface,andI’mmoved
toseeherloveforherex-husband.I’mgladIhavetissuesinmypurse.Wesit
besidehim,meholdingherhandwhilesheholdshis.
“Ana,therewasatimewhenthismanwasthecenterofmyworld.Thesun
roseandsetwithhim.I’llalwayslovehim.He’stakencareofyousowell.”
“Mom—”Ichokeandshestrokesmyfaceandtucksalockofmyhairbehind
myear.
“YouknowI’llalwaysloveRay.Wejustdriftedapart.”Shesighs.
“AndIjustcouldn’tlivewithhim.”Shegazesdownatherfingers,andI
wonderifshe’sthinkingaboutHusbandNumberThree:Stevewhowedon’t
talkabout.
“IknowyouloveRay,”Iwhisper,dryingmyeyes.“Theyaregoingtobring
himoutofhiscomatoday.”
“Good.I’msurehe’llbefine.He’ssostubborn.Ithinkyoulearneditoff
him.”
Ismile.“HaveyoubeentalkingtoChristian?”
“Doeshethinkyou’restubborn?”
“Ibelieveso.”
“I’lltellhimit’safamilytrait.Youlooksogoodtogether,Ana.Sohappy.”
“Weare,Ithink.Gettingthere,anyway.Ilovehim.He’sthecenterofmy
world.Thesunrisesandsetswithhimforme,too.”
“Heobviouslyadoresyou,darling.”
“AndIadorehim.”
“Makesureyoutellhim.Menneedtohearthatstuffjustlikewedo.”
361|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
IinsistongoingtotheairportwithBobandmymomtosaygoodbye.Taylor
followsintheR8,andChristiandrivestheSUV.I’msorrytheycan’tstay
longer,buttheyhavetogetbacktoSavannah.It’satearfulgoodbye.
“Takegoodcareofher,Bob,”Iwhisperashehugsme.
“Surewill,Ana.Andyoulookafteryourself.”
“Willdo.”Iturntomymother.“Goodbye,Mom.Thankyouforcoming,”I
whisper,myvoicehoarse.“Iloveyousomuch.”
“Ohmydarlinggirl,Iloveyou,too.AndRaywillbefine.He’snotreadyto
shuffleoffhismortalcoiljustyet.There’sprobablyaMarinersgamehecan’t
miss.”
Igiggle.She’sright.IresolvetoreadthesportspagesoftheSunday
newspapertoRaythatevening.IwatchherandBobclimbthestepsintothe
GreyEnterprisesHoldingsjet.Shegivesmeatearfulwavethenshe’sgone.
Christianwrapshisarmaroundmyshoulder.
“Let’sheadback,baby,”hemurmurs
“Willyoudrive?”
“Sure.”
Whenwereturntothehospitalthatevening,Raylooksdifferent.Ittakesmea
momenttorealizethatthesuckandpushoftheventilatorhasvanished.Ray
isbreathingonhisown.Relieffloodsthroughme.Istrokehisstubblyface,
andtakingoutatissuetogentlywipe,thespittlefromhismouth.
ChristianstalksofftofindDr.SluderorDr.Croweforanupdate,whileItake
myfamiliarseatbesidehisbedtokeepawatchfulvigil.Iunfoldthesports
sectionoftheSundayOregonianandconscientiouslybeginreadingoutthe
reportfromtheMarinersgameagainsttheKansasCityRoyals.Byall
accounts,itwasanexcitinggame,thankstotheRoyal’sPaulino.IgripRay’s
handfirmlyinmineasIreaditthrough.
“Andthefinalscore,Mariners2,Royals4.”
“Hey,Annie,welost?No!”Rayrasps,andhesqueezesmyhand.Daddy!
362|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterNineteen
Tearsstreamdownmyface.He’sback.Mydaddyisback.
“Don’tcry,Annie.”Ray’svoiceishoarse.“What’shappening?”
Itakeuphishandinbothofmineandcradleitagainstmyface.
“You’vebeeninanaccident.You’reinthehospitalinPortland.”
Rayfrowns,andIdon’tknowifit’sbecausehe’suncomfortablewithmy
uncharacteristicdisplayofaffection,orthathecan’tremembertheaccident.
“Doyouwantsomewater?”Iask,thoughI’mnotsureifI’mallowedtogive
himany.Henods,bewildered.Myheartswells.Istandupandleanoverhim,
kissinghisforehead.“Iloveyou,Daddy.Welcomeback.”
Hewaveshishand,embarrassed.“Me,too,Annie.Water.”Iruntheshort
distancetothenurses’station.
“Mydad—he’sawake!”IbeamatNurseKellie,whosmilesback.
“PageDr.Sluder,”shesaystohercolleagueandhurriedlymakesherway
aroundthedesk.
“Hewantswater.”
“I’llbringhimsome.”
Iskipbacktomyfather’sbed,Ifeelsolight-hearted.Hiseyesareclosed
whenIreachhim,andIimmediatelyworrythathe’sslippedbackintoa
coma.
“Daddy?”
“I’mhere,”hemuttersandhiseyesflutteropenasNurseKellieappearswith
ajugoficechipsandaglass.
“Hello,Mr.Steele.I’mNurseKellie.Yourdaughtertellsmeyou’rethirsty.”
Inthewaitingroom,Christianisstaringfixedlyathislaptop,deepin
concentration.HeglancesupwhenIclosethedoor.
“He’sawake,”Iannounce.Hesmiles,andthetensionaroundhis363|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
eyesvanishes.Oh…Ihadn’tnoticedbefore.Hashebeentenseallthistime?
Hesetshislaptopaside,stands,andembracesme.
“Howishe?”heasksintomyhairasIwrapmyarmsaroundhim.
“Talking,thirsty,bewildered.Hedoesn’tremembertheaccidentatall.”
“That’sunderstandable.Nowthathe’sawake,Iwanttogethimmovedto
Seattle.Thenwecangohome,andmymomcankeepaneyeonhim.”
Already?
“I’mnotsurehe’swellenoughtobemoved.”
“I’lltalktoDr.Sluder.Getheropinion.”
“Youmisshome?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Youhaven’tstoppedsmiling,”ChristiansaysasIpullupoutsidethe
Heathman.
“I’mveryrelieved.Andhappy.”
Christiangrins.“Good.”
Thelightisfading,andIshiverasIstepoutintothecool,crispeveningand
handmykeytotheparkingvalet.He’seyeingmycarwithlust,andIdon’t
blamehim.Christianputshisarmaroundme.
“Shallwecelebrate?”heasksasweenterthefoyer.
“Celebrate?”
“Yourdad.”
Igiggle.“Oh,him.”
“I’vemissedthatsound.”Christiankissesmyhair.
“Canwejusteatinourroom?Youknow,haveaquietnightin?”
“Sure.Come.”Takingmyhand,heleadsmetotheelevators.
“Thatwasdelicious,”ImurmurwithsatisfactionasIpushmyplateaway,
repleteforthefirsttimeinages.“Theysureknowhowtomakeafinetarte
Tatinhere.”
IamfreshlybathedandwearingonlyChristian’sT-shirtandmypanties.In
thebackground,Christian’siPodisonshuffleandDidois364|Page
ELJAMES
warblingonaboutwhiteflags.
Christianeyesmespeculatively.Hishairisstilldampfromourbath,andhe’s
wearingjusthisblackT-shirtandjeans.“That’sthemostI’veseenyoueatthe
entiretimewe’vebeenhere,”hesays.
“Iwashungry.”
Heleansbackinhischairwithaself-satisfiedsmirkandtakesasipofhis
whitewine.“Whatwouldyouliketodonow?”Hisvoiceissoft.
“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”
Heraisesaneyebrow,amused.“WhatIalwayswanttodo.”
“Andthatis?”
“Mrs.Grey,don’tbecoy.”
Reachingacrossthediningtable,Igrasphishand,turnitover,andskimmy
indexfingeroverhispalm.“I’dlikeyoutotouchmewiththis.”Irunmy
fingeruphisindexfinger.
Heshiftsinhischair.“Justthat?”Hiseyesdarkenandheatatonce.
“Maybethis?”Irunmyfingeruphismiddlefingerandbacktohispalm.
“Andthis.”Mynailtraceshisringfinger.“Definitelythis.”Myfingerstopsat
hisweddingring.“Thisisverysexy.”
“Isit,now?”
“Itsureis.Itsaysthismanismine.”AndIskimthesmallcallousthathas
alreadyformedonhispalmbeneaththering.Heleansforwardandcupsmy
chinwithhisotherhand.
“Mrs.Grey,areyouseducingme?”
“Ihopeso.”
“Anastasia,I’magiven.”Hisvoiceislow.“Comehere.”Hetugsmyhandso
thatI’mpulledfrommyseatontohislap.“Ilikehavingunfetteredaccessto
you.”Herunsahandupmythightomybehind.Hegraspsthenapeofmy
neckwithhisotherhandandkissesme,holdingmefirmlyinplace.
HetastesofwhitewineandapplepieandChristian.Irunmyfingersthrough
hishair,holdinghimtomewhileourtonguesexploreandcurlandtwist
aroundeachother,mybloodheatinginmyveins.We’rebreathlesswhen
Christianpullsaway.
“Let’sgotobed,”hemurmursagainstmylips.
“Bed?”
HepullsbackfurtherandtugsmyhairsoIamlookingupathim.
“Wherewouldyouprefer,Mrs.Grey?”
365|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
MyinnergoddessstopsstuffingherfacewithtarteTatin.Ishrug,feigning
indifference.“Surpriseme.”
Hesmirks.“You’refeistythisevening.”Herunshisnosealongmine.
“MaybeIneedtoberestrained.”
“Maybeyoudo.You’regettingmightybossyinyouroldage.”Henarrows
hiseyes,butcan’tdisguisethelatenthumorthere.
“Whatareyougoingtodoaboutit?”Ichallenge.
Hiseyesglitter.“IknowwhatI’dliketodoaboutit.Dependsifyou’reupto
it.”
“Oh,Mr.Grey,you’vebeenverygentlewithmetheselastcoupleofdays.
I’mnotmadeofglass,youknow.”
“Youdon’tlikegentle?”
“Withyou,ofcourse.Butyouknow…varietyisthespiceoflife.”
Ibatmylashesathim.
“You’reaftersomethinglessgentle?”
“Somethinglife-affirming.”
Heraiseshisbrowsinsurprise.“Life-affirming,”herepeats,astonished
humorinhisvoice.
Inod.Hegazesatmeforamoment.“Don’tbiteyourlip,”hewhispersthen
risessuddenlywithmeinhisarms.Igaspandgrabhisbiceps,fearfulthat
he’lldropme.Hewalksovertothesmallestofthethreecouchesanddeposits
meontoit.
“Waithere.Don’tmove.”Hegivesmeabriefhot,intenselookandturnson
hisheel,stalkingtowardthebedroom.Oh…Christianbarefoot.Whyarehis
feetsohot?He’sbackafewmomentslater,takingmebysurpriseasheleans
overmefrombehind.
“Ithinkwe’lldispensewiththis.”GrabbingthehemofmyT-shirt,hedragsit
overmyhead,leavingmenakedexceptformypanties.Hepullsmyponytail
backandkissesme.
“Standup,”heordersagainstmylipsandreleasesme.Icomplyimmediately.
Helaysatoweloutonthesofa.
Towel?
“Takeyourpantiesoff.”
Oh.IswallowbutdoasI’mtold,discardingthembythesofa.
“Sit.”Hegrabsmyponytailagainandpullsmyheadback.“You’lltellmeto
stopifthisgetstoomuch,yes?”
366|Page
ELJAMES
Inod.
“Sayit.”Hisvoiceisstern.
“Yes,”Isqueak.Hesmirks.
“Good.So,Mrs.Grey…bypopulardemand,I’mgoingtorestrainyou.”His
voicedropstoabreathlesswhisper.Desirestreaksthroughmybodylike
lightning,simplyatthosewords.OhmysweetFifty—onthesofa?Whatare
yougoingtodo?
“Bringyourkneesup,”hecommandssoftly.“Andsitrightback.”
Irestmyfeetontheedgeofthesofa,mykneesupinfrontofme.Hereaches
formyleftleg,andtakingthebeltfromoneofthebathroomrobes,heties
oneendabovemyknee.
“Bathrobes?”
“I’mimprovising.”Hesmirksagainandfastenstheslipknotabovemyknee
andtiestheotherendofthesoftbeltaroundthefinialatthebackcornerof
thesofa,effectivelypartingmylegs.
“Don’tmove,”hewarnsandrepeatstheprocesswithmyrightleg,tyingthe
secondcordtotheotherfinial.
Ohmy…Iamsittingup,splayedoutonthesofa,legsspreadwide.
“Okay?”Christianaskssoftly,gazingdownatmefrombehindthesofa.
Inod,expectinghimtotiemyhands,too.Butherefrains.Hebendsand
kissesme.
“Youhavenoideahowhotyoulookrightnow,”hemurmursandrubshis
noseagainstmine.“Changeofmusic,Ithink.”Hestandsandstrollscasually
overtotheiPoddock.
Howdoeshedothis?HereIam,trussedupandhornyashell,whilehe’sso
coolandcalm.He’sjustinmyfieldofvision,andIwatchtheflexandpullof
themusclesofhisbackunderhisT-shirtashereachesdownandchangesthe
song.Immediately,asweet,almostchildlikefemalevoicestartstosingabout
watchingme.
Oh,Ilikethissong.
Christianturnsandgazesatme,hiseyeslockedonmineashemovesaround
tothefrontofthesofaandsinksgracefullytohiskneesinfrontofme.
Suddenly,Ifeelveryexposed.
“Exposed?Vulnerable?”heaskswithhisuncannyabilitytovoicemy
unspokenwords.Hishandsareonhisknees.Inod.367|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Whydoesn’thetouchme?
“Good,”hemurmurs.“Holdoutyourhands.”Ican’tlookawayfromhis
mesmerizingeyes.IdoasI’mbid,andChristianpoursalittleoilyliquidonto
eachpalmfromasmallclearbottle.It’sscented—arich,musky,sensuous
scentthatIcan’tplace.
“Rubyourhands.”Isquirmbeneathhishot,heavygaze.“Keepstill,”he
warns.
Ohmy.
“Now,Anastasia,Iwantyoutotouchyourself.”
Holycow.
“Startatyourthroatandworkdown.”
Ihesitate.
“Don’tbeshy,Ana.Come.Doit.”
Thehumorandchallengeinhisexpressionisplaintoseealongwithhis
desire.
Thesweetvoicesingsthatthere’snothingsweetabouther.Iplacemyhands
againstmythroatandletthemslidedowntothetopofmybreasts.Theoil
makesthemglideeffortlesslyovermyskin.Myhandsarewarm.
“Lower,”Christianmurmurs,hiseyesdarkening.Hedoesn’ttouchme.
Myhandscupmybreasts.
“Teaseyourself.”
Ohmy.Ituggentlyonmynipples.
“Harder,”Christianurges.Hesitsimmobilebetweenmythighs,justwatching
me.“LikeIwould,”headds,hiseyesshiningdarkly.Mymusclesclenchdeep
inmybelly.Igroaninresponseandpullharderonmynipples,feelingthem
stiffenandlengthenbeneathmytouch.
“Yes.Likethat.Again.”
ClosingmyeyesIpullhard,rollingandtwistingthembetweenmyfingers.I
moan.
“Openyoureyes.”
Iblinkupathim.
“Again.Iwanttoseeyou.Seeyouenjoyyourtouch.”
Ohfuck.Irepeattheprocess.Thisisso…erotic.
“Hands.Lower.”
Isquirm.
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ELJAMES
“Keepstill,Ana.Absorbthepleasure.Lower.”Hisvoiceislowandhusky,
temptingandbeguilingatonce.
“Youdoit,”Iwhisper.
“Oh,Iwill—soon.You.Lower.Now.”Christian,exudingsensuality,runshis
tonguealonghisteethHolyfuck…Iwrithe,pullingontherestraints.
Heshakeshishead,slowly.“Still.”Herestshishandsonmyknees,holding
meinplace.“Comeon,Ana—lower.”
Myhandsglideovermystomachdownovermybelly.
“Lower,”hemouths,andheiscarnalitypersonified.
“Christian,please.”
Hishandsglidedownfrommyknees,skimmingmythighs,towardmysex.
“Comeon,Ana.Touchyourself.”
Mylefthandskimsovermysex,andIrubinaslowcircle,mymouthanOas
Ipant.
“Again,”hewhispers.
Igroanlouderandrepeatthemoveandtipmyheadback,gasping.
“Again.”
Imoanloudly,andChristianinhalessharply.Grabbingmyhands,hebends
down,runninghisnosethenhistonguebackandforthattheapexofmy
thighs.
“Ah!”
Iwanttotouchhim,butwhenItrytomovemyhands,hisfingerstighten
aroundmywrists.
“I’llrestrainthese,too.Keepstill.”
Igroan.Hereleasesmetheneaseshismiddletwofingersinsideme,theheel
ofhishandrestingagainstmyclitoris.
“I’mgoingtomakeyoucomequickly,Ana.Ready?”
“Yes,”Ipant.
Hestartstomovehisfingers,hishand,upanddown,rapidly,assaultingboth
thatsweetspotinsidemeandmyclitorisatthesametime.Ah!Thefeelingis
intense—reallyintense.Pleasurebuildsandspikesthroughoutthelowerhalf
ofmybody.Iwanttostretchmylegs,butIcan’t.Myhandsclawatthetowel
beneathme.
“Surrender,”Christianwhispers.
Iexplodearoundhisfingers,cryingoutincoherently.Hepressesthe369|Pa
ge
FiftyShadesFreed
heelofhishandagainstmyclitorisastheaftershocksrunthroughmybody,
prolongingthedeliciousagony.
Vaguely,I’mawarethathe’suntyingmylegs.
“Myturn,”hemurmurs,andflipsmeoversoIamfacedownonthesofawith
mykneesonthefloor.Hespreadsmylegsandslapsmehardacrossmy
behind.
“Ah!”Andinoneswiftmovewithnopreamblewhatsoever,he’sinsideme.
“Oh,Ana,”hehissesthroughclenchedteethashestartstomove.Hisfingers
gripmehardaroundmyhipsashegrindsintomeoverandover.AndI’m
buildingagain.No…Ah…
“Comeon,Ana!”Christianshouts,andIshatteroncemore,pulsingaround
himandcryingoutasIcome.
“Life-affirmingenoughforyou?”Christiankissesmyhair.
“Oh,yes,”Imurmur,gazingupattheceiling.Iamlyingonmyhusband,my
backtohisfront,bothofusonthefloorbesidethesofa.He’sstilldressed.
“Ithinkweshouldgoagain.Noclothesforyouthistime.”
“Christ,Ana.Giveamanachance.”
Igiggleandhechuckles.“I’mgladRay’sconscious.Seemsallyourappetites
areback,”hesays,notdisguisingthesmileinhisvoice.Iturnoverandscowl
athim.“Areyouforgettingaboutlastnightandthismorning?”Ipout.
“Nothingforgettableabouteitherofthose.”Hegrins,andwhenhedoes,he
lookssoyoungandcarefreeandhappy.Hecupsmybehind.
“Youhaveafantasticass,Mrs.Grey.”
“Sodoyou.”Iarchabrowathim.“Thoughyoursisstillundercover.”
“Andwhatareyougoingtodoaboutthat,Mrs.Grey?”
“Why,I’mgoingtoundressyou,Mr.Grey.Allofyou.”
Hegrins.
“AndIthinkthere’salotthat’ssweetaboutyou,”Imurmur,referringtothe
songstillplayingonrepeat.Hissmilefades.Ohno.
“Youare,”Iwhisper.Ileandownandkissthecornerofhismouth.370|Pag
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ELJAMES
Hecloseshiseyesandtightenshisarmsaroundme.
“Christian,youare.Youmadethisweekendsospecial—inspiteofwhat
happenedtoRay.Thankyou.”
Heopenshislarge,seriousgrayeyes,andhisexpressiontugsatmyheart.
“BecauseIloveyou,”hemurmurs.
“Iknow.Iloveyou,too.”Ireachupandcaresshisface.“Andyou’reprecious
tome,too.Youdoknowthat,don’tyou?”
Hisstills,lookinglost.
Oh,Christian…MysweetFifty.
“Believeme,”Iwhisper.
“It’snoteasy.”Hisvoiceisalmostinaudible.
“Try.Tryhard,becauseit’strue.”Istrokehisfaceoncemore,myfingers
brushingagainsthissideburns.Hegazesatme,eyeswide,grayoceansofloss
andhurtandpain.Iwanttoclimbintohisbodyandholdhim.Anythingto
stopthatlook.Whenwillherealizethathemeanstheworldtome?Thathe’s
morethanworthyofmylove,theloveofhisparents—hissiblings?Ihave
toldhimoverandover,andyethereweareasChristiangivesmehislost,
abandonedlook.Time.Itwilljusttaketime.
“You’llgetcold.Come.”Herisesgracefullytohisfeetandpullsmeupto
standbesidehim.Islipmyarmaroundhiswaistaswewanderbackintothe
bedroom.Iwon’tpushhim,butsinceRay’saccident,it’sbecomemore
importanttomethatheknowshowmuchIlovehim.Asweenterthe
bedroom,Ifrown,desperatetorecovertheverywelcomelightheartedmood
ofonlyafewmomentsago.
“ShallwewatchTV?”Iask.
Christiansnorts.“Iwashopingforroundtwo.”AndmymercurialFiftyis
back.Iarchmybrowandstopbythebed.
“Well,inthatcase,IthinkI’llbeincharge.”
Hegapesatme.Ipushhimontothebedandquicklystraddlehim,pinninghis
handsdownbesidehishead.
Hegrinsupatme.“Well,Mrs.Grey,nowyou’vegotme.Whatareyougoing
todowithme?”
Ileandownandwhisperinhisear,“Iamgoingtofuckyouwithmymouth.”
Hecloseshiseyes,inhalingsharply,andIrunmyteethgentlyalong371|Pa
ge
FiftyShadesFreed
hisjaw.
~o0o~
Christianisworkingatthecomputer.It’sabrightearlymorning,andhe’s
tappingoutane-mail,Ithink.
“Goodmorning,”Imurmurshylyfromthedoorway.Heturnsandsmilesat
me.
“Mrs.Grey.You’reupearly.”Heholdsopenhisarms.Iboltacrossthesuite
andcurlintohislap.“Asareyou.”
“Iwasjustworking.”Heshiftsashekissesmyhair.
“What?”Iask,sensingsomethingwrong.
Hesighs.“Igotane-mailfromDetectiveClark.Hewantstotalktoyouabout
thatfuckerHyde.”
“Really?”IsitbacktogazeatChristian.
“Yes.Itoldhimyou’reinPortlandforthetimebeing,sohe’llhavetowait.
Buthesayshe’dliketointerviewyouhere.”
“He’scominghere?”
“Apparentlyso.”Christianlooksbemused.
Ifrown.“What’ssoimportantthatcan’twait?”
“Exactly.”
“When’shecoming?”
“Today.I’lle-mailhimback.”
“Ihavenothingtohide.Iwonderwhathewantstoknow?”
“We’llfindoutwhenhegetshere.I’mintrigued,too.”Christianshiftsagain.
“Breakfastwillbehereshortly.Let’seat,thenwecangoandseeyourdad.”
Inod.“Youcanstayhereifyouwant.Icanseeyou’rebusy.”
Hescowls.“No,Iwanttocomewithyou.”
“Okay.”Igrin,andwrapmyarmsaroundhisneckandkisshim.
Rayisbad-tempered.It’sajoy.He’sitchy,scratchy,impatient,and
uncomfortable.
“Dad,you’vebeeninamajorcaraccident.Itwilltaketimetoheal.Christian
andIwanttomoveyoutoSeattle.”
“Idon’tknowwhyyou’rebotheringwithme.I’llbefinehereon372|Page
ELJAMES
myown.”
“Dad,don’tberidiculous.”Isqueezehishandfondly,andhehasthegraceto
smileatme.
“Doyouneedanything?”
“Icouldmurderadoughnut,Annie.”
Igrinindulgentlyathim.“I’llgetyouadoughnutortwo.We’llgoto
Voodoo.”
“Great!”
“Youwantsomedecentcoffee,too?”
“Hellyeah!”
“Okay,I’llgogetsome.”
Christianisoncemoreinthewaitingroom,talkingonthephone.Hereally
shouldsetupofficeinhere.Weirdly,he’sbyhimself,althoughtheotherICU
bedsareoccupied.IwonderifChristian’sfrightenedofftheothervisitors.He
hangsup.
“Clarkwillbehereatfourthisafternoon.”
Ifrown.Whatcouldbesourgent?“Okay.Raywantscoffeeanddoughnuts.”
Christianlaughs.“IthinkIwouldtooifI’dbeeninanaccident.AskTaylorto
go.”
“No,I’llgo.”
“TakeTaylorwithyou.”Hisvoiceisstern.
“Okay.”Irollmyeyesathim,andhenarrowshiseyes.Thenhesmirks,and
cockshisheadtooneside.
“There’snoonehere.”Hisvoiceisdeliciouslylow,andIknowhe’s
threateningtospankme.Iamabouttodarehim,whenayoungcoupleenters
theroom.Sheisweepingsoftly.
IshrugapologeticallyatChristian,andhenods.Pickinguphislaptop,he
takesmyhandandleadsmeoutoftheroom.“Theyneedtheprivacymore
thanwedo,”Christianmurmurs.“We’llhaveourfunlater.”
OutsideTayloriswaitingpatiently.“Let’sallgogetcoffeeanddoughnuts.”
~o0o~
373|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Atfouro’clockpreciselythere’saknockonthesuitedoor.Taylorushersin
DetectiveClark,wholooksmorebad-temperedthanusual.Healwaysseems
tolookbad-tempered.Perhapsit’sthewayhisfaceisset.
“Mr.Grey,Mrs.Grey,thankyouforseeingme.”
“DetectiveClark.”Christianshakeshishandanddirectshimtoaseat.Isit
downonthesofawhereIenjoyedmyselfsomuchlastnight.Thethought
makesmeblush.
“It’sMrs.GreyIwishtosee,”ClarksayspointedlytoChristianandtoTaylor
stationedbesidethedoor.Christianglancesthennodsalmostimperceptiblyat
Taylorwhoturnsandleaves,shuttingthedoorbehindhim.
“Anythingyouwishtosaytomywifeyoucansayinfrontofme.”
Christian’svoiceiscoolandbusinesslike.DetectiveClarkturnstome.
“Areyousureyou’rehappyforyourhusbandtobepresent?”
Ifrownathim.“Ofcourse.Ihavenothingtohide.Youarejustinterviewing
me?”
“Yesma’am.”
“I’dlikemyhusbandtostay.”
Christiansitsbesideme,radiatingtension.
“Asyouwish,”murmursDetectiveClark,resigned.Heclearshisthroat.
“Mrs.Grey,Mr.Hydemaintainsthatyousexuallyharassedhimandmade
severallewdadvancestohim.”
Oh!Ialmostburstoutlaughing,butputmyhandonChristian’skneeto
restrainhimasheshiftsforwardinhisseat.
“That’spreposterous,”Christiansplutters.IsqueezeChristian’swristto
silencehim.
“That’snottrue,”Istatecalmlyandmatter-of-factlytoClark.“Infact,itwas
theotherwayaround.Hepropositionedmeinaveryaggressivemanner,and
hewasfired.”
DetectiveClark’smouthflattensbrieflyintoathinlinebeforehecontinues.
“Hydeallegesthatyoufabricatedataleaboutsexualharassmentinorderto
gethimfired.Hesaysthatyoudidthisbecauseherefusedyouradvancesand
becauseyouwantedhisjob.”
374|Page
ELJAMES
Ifrown.Holycrap.JackisevenmoredelusionalthanIthought.
“That’snottrue.”Ishakemyhead.
“Detective,pleasedon’ttellmeyouhavedrivenallthiswaytoharassmy
wifewiththeseridiculousaccusations.”
DetectiveClarkturnshissteelyblueglareonChristian.“Ineedtohearthis
fromMrs.Grey,sir,”hesayswithquietrestraint.IsqueezeChristian’swrist
oncemore,silentlyimploringhimtokeephiscool.
“Youdon’thavetolistentothisshit,Ana.”
“IthinkIshouldletDetectiveClarkknowwhathappened.”
Christiangazesatmeimpassivelyforabeatthenwaveshishandinagesture
ofresignation,lettingmecontinue.
“WhatHydesaysissimplynottrue.”Myvoicesoundscalm,althoughIfeel
anythingbut.I’mbewilderedbytheseaccusationsandnervousthatChristian
mightexplode.WhatisJack’sgame?“JackHydeaccostedmeintheoffice
kitchenoneevening.HetoldmethatitwasthankstohimthatIhadbeen
hiredandthatheexpectedsexualfavorsinreturn.Hetriedtoblackmailme,
usinge-mailsthatI’dsenttoChristian,whowasn’tmyhusbandthen.Ididn’t
knowHydehadbeenmonitoringmye-mails.He’sdelusional—heeven
accusedmeofbeingaspysentbyChristian,presumablytohelphimtake
overthecompany.Hedidn’tknowthatChristianhadalreadyboughtSIP.”I
shakemyheadasIrecallmydistressing,tenseencounterwithHyde.
“IntheendI—Itookhimdown.”
Clark’seyebrowsriseinsurprise.“Tookhimdown?”
“Myfatherisex-army.Hyde…um,touchedme,andIknowhowtodefend
myself.”
Christianglancesatmewithabrieflookofpride.
“Isee.”Clarkleansbackonthesofa,sighingheavily.
“HaveyouspokentoanyofHyde’sformerPAs?”Christianasks,almost
genially.
“Yes,wehave.Butthetruthiswecan’tgetanyofhisassistantstotalktous.
Theyallsayhewasanexemplaryboss,eventhoughnoneofthemlasted
morethanthreemonths.”
“We’vehadthatproblem,too,”Christianmurmurs.
Oh?IgapeatChristian,asdoesDetectiveClark.
“Mysecuritychief.He’sinterviewedHyde’spastfivePAs.”
“Andwhy’sthat?”
375|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christiangiveshimasteelyglare.“Becausemywifeworkedforhim,andI
runsecuritychecksonanyonemywifeworkswith.”
DetectiveClarkflushes.Ishrugapologeticallyathimwithawelcome-to-my-
worldsmile.
“Isee,”Clarkmurmurs.“Ithinkthere’smoretothisthanmeetstheeye,Mr.
Grey.Weareconductingamorethoroughsearchofhisapartmenttomorrow,
somaybesomethingwillpresentitselfthen.Thoughbyallaccountshehasn’t
livedthereforsometime.”
“You’vesearchedalready?”
“Yes.We’redoingitagain.Afingertipsearchthistime.”
“You’vestillnotchargedhimwiththeattemptedmurderofRosBaileyand
myself?”Christiansayssoftly.
What?
“We’rehopingtofindmoreevidenceinregardtothesabotageofyour
aircraft,Mr.Grey.Weneedmorethanapartialprint,andwhilehe’sin
custodywecanbuildacase.”
“Isthisallyoucamedownherefor?”
Clarkbristles.“Yes,Mr.Grey,itis,unlessyou’vehadanyfurtherthoughts
aboutthenote?”
Note?Whichnote?
“No.Itoldyou.Itmeansnothingtome.”Christiancannothidehisirritation.
“AndIdon’tseewhywecouldn’thavedonethisoverthephone.”
“IthinkItoldyouIpreferahands-onapproach.AndI’mvisitingmy
greatauntwholivesinPortland—twobirds…onestone.”Clarkremains
stonyfacedandunfazedbymyhusband’sbadtemper.
“Well,ifwe’realldone,Ihaveworktoattendto.”Christianstandsand
DetectiveClarkfollowshiscue.
“Thankyouforyourtime,Mrs.Grey,”hesayspolitely.Inod.
“Mr.Grey.”Christianopensthedoor,andDetectiveClarkleaves.Isaginto
thesofa.
“Canyoubelievethatasshole?”Christianexplodes.
“Clark?”
“No.Thatfucker,Hyde.”
“No,Ican’t.”
“What’shisfuckinggame?”Christianwhispersthroughgritted376|Page
ELJAMES
teeth.
“Idon’tknow.DoyouthinkClarkbelievedme?”
“Ofcoursehedid.HeknowsHydeisafucked-upasshole.”
“You’reverysweary.”
“Sweary?”Christiansmirks.“Isthataword?”
“Itisnow.”
Unexpectedlyhegrinsandsitsdownbesideme,pullingmeintohisarms.
“Don’tthinkaboutthatfucker.Let’sgoseeyourdadandtrytotalkaboutthe
movetomorrow.”
“HewasadamantthathewantedtostayinPortlandandnotbeabother.”
“I’lltalktohim.”
“Iwanttotravelwithhim.”
Christiangazesatme,andforamoment,Ithinkhe’sgoingtosayno.“Okay.
I’llcome,too.SawyerandTaylorcantakethecars.I’llletSawyerdriveyour
R8tonight.”
~o0o~
ThefollowingdayRayisexamininghisnewsurroundings—anairy,light,
roomintherehabilitationcenteroftheNorthwestHospitalinSeattle.It’s
noon,andhelookssleepy.Thejourney,viahelicopternoless,hasexhausted
him.
“TellChristianIappreciatethis,”hesaysquietly.
“Youcantellhimyourself.He’llbealongthisevening.”
“Aren’tyougoingtogotowork?”
“Probably.Ijustwanttomakesureyou’resettledinhere.”
“Yougetalong.Youdon’tneedtoworryaboutme.”
“Ilikeworryingaboutyou.”
MyBlackBerrybuzzes.Icheckthenumber—it’snotoneIrecognize.
“Yougoingtoanswerthat?”Rayasks.
“No.Idon’tknowwhoitis.Thevoicemailcantakeitforme.Iboughtyou
somemagazines.”Iindicatethepileofsportingperiodicalsonhisbedside
table.
“Thanks,Annie.”
377|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“You’retired,aren’tyou?”
Henods.
“I’llletyougetsomesleep.”Ileanoverandkisshisforehead.
“Laters,Daddy,”Imurmur.
“I’llseeyoulater,honey.Andthankyou.”Rayreachesoutandcatchesmy
hand,squeezingitgently.“Ilikethatyoucallmedaddy.Takesmeback.”
Oh,Daddy.Ireturnhissqueeze.
AsIheadoutofthemaindoorstowardtheSUVwhereSawyeriswaiting,I
hearmynamebeingcalled.
“Mrs.Grey!Mrs.Grey!”
Turning,IseeDr.Greenehurrytowardme,lookingherusualimmaculate
self,ifalittleflustered.
“Mrs.Grey,howareyou?Didyougetmymessage?Icalledearlier.”
“No.”Myscalpprickles.
“Well,Iwaswonderingwhyyou’dcancelledfourappointments.”
Fourappointments?Igapeather.I’vemissedfourappointments!
How?
“Perhapsweshouldtalkaboutthisinmyoffice.Iwasgoingoutforlunch—
doyouhavetimerightnow?”
Inodmeekly.“Sure.I…”Wordsfailme.I’vemissedfourappointments?I’m
lateformyshot.Shit.Ifollowherinadazebackintothehospitalandupto
heroffice.HowdidImissfourappointments?Ivaguelyrememberonebeing
moved—Hannahmentionedit—butfour?HowcouldImissfour?
Dr.Greene’sofficeisspacious,minimalist,andwellappointed.
“I’msogratefulyoucaughtmebeforeIleft,”Imumble,stillshellshocked.
“Myfather’sbeeninacaraccident,andwe’vejustmovedhimherefrom
Portland.”
“Oh,I’msosorry.How’shedoing?”
“He’sdoingokay,thankyou.Onthemend.”
“That’sgood.AnditexplainswhyyoucancelledonFriday.”
Dr.Greenewigglesthemouseonherdesk,andhercomputercomestolife.
378|Page
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“Yes…it’sbeenoverthirteenweeks.You’recuttingitabitfine.We’dbetter
doatestbeforewegiveyouanothershot.”
“Atest?”Iwhisper,allthebloodrushingfrommyhead.
“Apregnancytest.”
Ohno.
Shereachesintothedrawerofherdesk.“Youknowwhattodowiththis.”
Shehandsmeasmallcontainer.“Therestroomisjustoutsidemyoffice.”
Igetupasifinatrance,mywholebodyrobotic,operatingonautomaticpilot,
andstumbletotherestroom.
Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit.HowcouldIhaveletthishappen…again?
IsuddenlyfeelsickandofferasilentprayerwhileIpee.Pleaseno.Please
no.It’stoosoon.It’stoosoon.It’stoosoon.WhenIreenterDr.Greene’s
office,shegivesmeatightsmileandwavesmetotheseatinfrontofher
desk.Isitdownandwordlesslyhandhermysample.Shedipsasmallwhite
stickintoitandwatches.Sheraiseshereyebrowsasitturnspaleblue.
“Whatdoesthatmean?Theblue?”Thetensionisalmostchokingme.
Shelooksupatme,hereyeswide.“Well,Mrs.Grey,itmeansyou’re
pregnant.”
What?No.No.No.
Fuck.
379|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChapterTwenty
IgapeatDr.Greene,myworldcollapsingaroundme.Ababy.Ababy.Idon’t
wantababy…notyet.Fuck.AndIknowdeepdownthatChristianisgoing
tofreak.
“Mrs.Grey,you’reverypale.Wouldyoulikeaglassofwater?”
“Please.”Myvoiceisabarelyaudible.Mymindisracing.Pregnant?When?
“Itakeityou’resurprised.”
Inodmutelyatthegooddoctorasshehandsmeaglassofwaterfromher
convenientlyplacedwatercooler.Itakeawelcomesip.
“Shocked,”Iwhisper.
“Wecoulddoanultrasoundtoseehowadvancedthepregnancyis.Judging
byyourreaction,Isuspectyou’rejustacoupleofweeksorsofrom
conception––fourorfiveweekspregnant.Itakeityouhaven’tbeensuffering
anyothersymptoms?”
Ishakemyheadmutely.Symptoms?Idon’tthinkso.“Ithought…Ithought
thiswasareliableformofcontraceptive.”
Dr.Greenearchesabrow.“Itnormallyis,whenyouremembertohavethe
shot,”shesayscoolly.
“Imusthavelosttrackoftime.”Christianisgoingtofreak.Iknowit.
“Haveyoubeenbleedingatall?”
Ifrown.“No.”
“That’snormalfortheDepo.Shallwehavealookatyou?Ihavetime.”
Inod,bewildered,andDr.Greenedirectsmetowardablackleathertable
behindascreen.
“Ifyou’lljustslipoffyourskirtandunderwear,we’llgofromthere,”shesays
briskly.
Underwear?Iwasexpectinganultrasoundscanovermybelly.WhydoI
needtoremovemypanties?Ishruginconsternationthenquicklydoasshe
saysandliedownbeneaththesoftwhiteblanket.380|Page
ELJAMES
“That’sgood.”Dr.Greeneappearsattheendofthetable,pullingthe
ultrasoundmachinecloser.It’sahi-techstackofcomputers.Sittingdown,she
positionsthescreensothatwecanbothseeitandjogsthetrackballonthe
keyboard.Thescreenpingsintolife.
“Ifyoucouldliftandbendyourknees,thenpartthemwide,”shesaysmatter-
of-factly.
What?
“Thisisatransvaginalultrasound.Ifyou’reonlyjustpregnant,weshouldbe
abletofindthebabywiththis.”Sheholdsupalongwhiteprobe.
Oh—youhavegottobekidding!
“Okay,”Imutter,mortified,anddoasshesays.Greenepullsacondomover
thewandandlubricatesitwithcleargel.
“Right,Mrs.Grey,ifyoucouldrelax.”
Relax?I’mpregnant,damnit!Howdoyouexpectmetorelax?Iblush,and
endeavortofindmyhappyplace…whichhasrelocatedsomewherenearthe
lostIslandofAtlantis.Slowlyandgentlysheinsertstheprobe.Holyfuck.
AllIcanseeonthescreenisthevisualequivalentofwhitenoise—
althoughit’smoresepiaincolor.Slowly,Dr.Greenemovestheprobeabout,
andit’sverydisconcerting.
“There,”shemurmurs.Shepressesabutton,freezingthepictureonthe
screen,andpointstoatinyblipinthesepiastorm.It’salittleblip.There’sa
tinylittleblipinmybelly.Tiny.Wow.IforgetmydiscomfortasIstareshell-
shockedattheblip.
“It’stooearlytoseetheheartbeat,butyes,you’redefinitelypregnant.Fouror
fiveweeks,Iwouldsay.”Shefrowns.“Looksliketheshotranoutearly.Oh
well,thathappens.”
What!Iamtoostunnedtosayanything.Thelittleblipisababy.Arealhonest
togoodnessbaby.Christian’sbaby.Mybaby.Holycow.Ababy!
“Wouldyoulikemetoprintoutapictureforyou?”
Inod,stillunabletospeak,andDr.Greenepressesabutton.Thenshegently
removesthewandandhandsmeapapertoweltocleanmyself.
“Congratulations,Mrs.Grey,”shesaysasIsitup.“We’llneedtomake
anotherappointment.Isuggestinfourweeks’time.Thenwecan381|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ascertaintheexactageofyourbabyandsetalikelyduedate.Youcanget
dressednow.”
“Okay.”I’mreelingandIdresshurriedly.Ihaveablip,alittleblip.WhenI
emergefrombehindthescreen,Dr.Greeneisbackatherdesk.
“Inthemeantime,I’dlikeyoutostartthiscourseoffolicacidand
multivitamins.Here’saleafletofdosanddon’ts.”Asshehandsmeapackage
ofpillsandaleaflet,shecontinuestotalkatme,butI’mnotlistening.I’min
shock.Overwhelmed.SurelyIshouldbehappy.SurelyIshouldbethirty…
atleast.Thisistoosoon—fartoosoon.Itrytoquellmyrisingsenseofpanic.
IwishDr.Greeneapolitegoodbyeandheadinadazebackdowntotheexit
andoutintothecoolfallafternoon.I’mgrippedsuddenlybyacreepingcold
anddeepsenseofforeboding.Christianisgoingtofreak,Iknow,buthow
muchandhowfar,Ihavenoidea.Hiswordshauntme.“I’mnotreadyto
shareyouyet.”Ipullmyjackettighteraroundme,tryingtoshakeoffthe
cold.
SawyerleapsoutoftheSUVandholdsopenthedoor.Hefrownswhenhe
seesmyface,butIignorehisconcernedexpression.
“Whereto,Mrs.Grey?”heasksgently.
“SIP.”Inestleintothebackofthecar,closingmyeyesandrestingmyhead
onthebackseat.Ishouldbehappy.IknowIshouldbehappy.ButI’mnot.
Thisistooearly.Fartooearly.Whataboutmyjob?WhataboutSIP?What
aboutChristianandme?No.No.No.We’llbefine.He’llbefine.Heloved
babyMia—IrememberCarricktellingme—hedotesonhernow.PerhapsI
shouldwarnFlynn…PerhapsIshouldn’ttellChristian.PerhapsI…perhaps
Ishouldendthis.Ihaltmythoughtsonthatdarkpath,alarmedatthe
directionthey’retaking.Instinctivelymyhandsweepsdowntorest
protectivelyovermybelly.No.MylittleBlip.Tearsspringtomyeyes.What
amIgoingtodo?
Avisionofalittleboywithcopper-coloredhairandbrightgrayeyes,running
throughthemeadowatthenewhouseinvadesmythoughts,teasingand
tantalizingmewithpossibilities.He’sgigglingandsquealingwithdelightas
ChristianandIchasehim.Christianswingshimhighinhisarmsandcarries
himonhishipaswewalkhandinhandbacktothehouse.
MyvisionmorphsintoChristianturningawayfrommeindisgust.I’mfatand
awkward,heavywithchild.Hepacesthelonghallof382|Page
ELJAMES
mirrors,awayfromme,thesoundofhisfootstepsechoingoffthesilvered
glass,walls,andfloor.Christian…Ijerkawake.No.He’sgoingtofreakout.
WhenSawyerpullsupoutsideSIP,Ileapoutandheadintothebuilding.
“Ana,greattoseeyou.How’syourdad?”HannahasksassoonasIreachmy
office.Iregardhercoolly.
“He’sbetter,thankyou.CanIseeyouinmyoffice?”
“Sure.”Shelookssurprisedasshefollowsmein.“Iseverythingokay?”
“Ineedtoknowifyou’vemovedorcancelledanyappointmentswithDr.
Greene.”
“Dr.Greene?Yes,Ihave.Abouttwoorthreeofthem.Mostlybecauseyou
wereinothermeetingsoroverrunning.Why?”
BecausenowI’mfuckingpregnant!Iscreamatherinmyhead.Itakeadeep,
steadyingbreath.“Ifyoumoveanyappointments,willyoumakesureI
know?Idon’talwayscheckmycalendar.”
“Sure,”Hannahsaysquietly.“I’msorry.HaveIdonesomethingwrong?”
Ishakemyheadandsighloudly.“Canyoumakemesometea?
Thenlet’sdiscusswhat’sbeenhappeningwhileI’vebeenaway.”
“Sure.I’lljumptoit.”Brightening,sheheadsoutoftheoffice.Igazeafter
herdepartingfigure.“Youseethatwoman?”ItalkquietlytotheBlip.“She’s
thereasonyou’rehere.”Ipatmybellythenfeellikeacompleteidiot,because
Iamtalkingtotheblip.MytinylittleBlip.Ishakemyhead,exasperatedat
myselfandatHannah…thoughdeepdownIknowIcan’treallyblame
Hannah.DespondentlyIswitchonmycomputer.There’sane-mailfrom
Christian.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Missingyou
Date:September13,201113:58
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.Grey
383|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
I’vebeenbackintheofficeforonlythreehours,andI’mmissingyoualready.
HopeRayhassettledinokayattheNorthwest.Momisgoingtoseehimthis
afternoonandcheckuponhim.
I’lcolectyouaroundsixthisevening,andwecangoandseehimbefore
headinghome.
Soundgood?
Yourlovinghusband
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Itypeaquickresponse.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Missingyou
Date:September13,201114:10
To:ChristianGrey
Sure.
x
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Missingyou
Date:September13,201114:14
To:AnastasiaGrey
Areyouokay?
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
384|Page
ELJAMES
No,Christian,I’mnot.I’mfreakingoutaboutyoufreakingout.Idon’tknow
whattodo.ButIamnotgoingtotellyouviae-mail.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:Missingyou
Date:September13,201114:17
To:ChristianGrey
Fine.Justbusy.
Seeyouatsix.
x
AnastasiaGrey
CommissioningEditor,SIP
WhenwillItellhim?Tonight?Maybeaftersex?Maybeduringsex.No,that
mightbedangerousforbothofus.Whenhe’sasleep?Iputmyheadinmy
hands.WhatthehellamIgoingtodo?
~o0o~
“Hi,”ChristiansayswarilyasIclimbintotheSUV.
“Hi,”Imurmur.
“What’swrong?”Hefrowns.IshakemyheadasTaylorsetsofftowardthe
hospital.
“Nothing.”Maybenow?Icouldtellhimnowwhenwe’reinacontained
spaceandTayloriswithus.
“Isworkallright?”Christiancontinuestoprobe.
“Yes.Fine.Thanks.”
“Ana,what’swrong?”Histoneisalittlemoreforceful.Ichickenout.
“I’vejustmissedyou,that’sall.AndI’vebeenworriedaboutRay.”
Christianvisiblyrelaxes.“Ray’sgood.IspoketoMomthisafternoonand
she’simpressedwithhisprogress.”Reachingacross,385|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christiangraspsmyhand.“Boy,yourhandiscold.Haveyoueatentoday?”
Iblush.
“Ana,”Christianscoldsme,annoyed.
Well,Ihaven’teatenbecauseIknowyou’regoingtogobat-shitcrazywhenI
tellyouI’mpregnant.
“I’lleatthisevening.Ihaven’treallyhadtime.”
Heshakeshisheadinfrustration.“Doyouwantmetoadd‘feedmywife’to
thesecuritydetail’slistofduties?”
“I’msorry.I’lleat.It’sjustbeenaweirdday.Youknow,movingDadand
all.”
Hislipspressintoahardline,buthesaysnothing.Igazeoutthewindow.Tell
him!Mysubconscioushisses.No.Iamacoward.Christianinterruptsmy
reverie.“ImayhavetogotoTaiwan.”
“Oh.When?”
“Laterthisweek.Maybenextweek.”
“Okay.”
“Iwantyoutocomewithme.”
Iswallow.“Christian,please.Ihavemyjob.Let’snotrehashthisargument
again.”
Hesighsandpoutslikeasulkyteenager.“ThoughtI’dask,”hemutters
petulantly.
“Howlongwillyougofor?”
“Notmorethanacoupleofdays.Iwishyou’dtellmewhat’sbotheringyou.”
Howcanhetell?“Well,nowthatmybelovedhusbandisgoingaway…”
Christiankissesmyknuckles.“Iwon’tbeawayforlong.”
“Good.”Ismileweaklyathim.
Rayismuchbrighterandalotlessgrumpywhenweseehim.I’mtouchedby
hisquietgratitudetoChristian,andforamomentIforgetaboutmy
impendingnewsasIsitandlistentothemtalkfishingandtheMariners.But
hetireseasily.
“Daddy,we’llleaveyoutosleep.”
“Thanks,Anahoney.Ilikethatyoudropby.Sawyourmomtoday,386|Pag
e
ELJAMES
too,Christian.Shewasveryreassuring.Andshe’saMarinersfan.”
“She’snotcrazyaboutfishing,though,”Christiansayswrylyasherises.
“Don’tknowmanywomenwhoare,eh?”Raygrins.
“I’llseeyoutomorrow,okay?”Ileanoverandkisshim.Mysubconscious
pursesherlips.That’sprovidedChristianhasn’tlockedyouaway…orworse.
Myspiritstakeanosedive.
“Come.”Christianholdsouthishand,frowningatme.Itakeitandweleave
thehospital.
Ipickatmyfood.It’sMrs.Jones’schickenchasseur,butI’mjustnothungry.
Mystomachisknottedinatightballofanxiety.
“Damnit!Ana,willyoutellmewhat’swrong?”Christianpusheshisempty
plateaway,irritated.Igazeathim.“Please.You’redrivingmecrazy.”
Iswallowandtrytosubduethepanicrisinginmythroat.Itakeadeep
steadyingbreath.It’snowornever.“I’mpregnant.”
Hestills,andveryslowlyallthecolordrainsfromhisface.“What?”
hewhispers,ashen.
“I’mpregnant.”
Hisbrowfurrowswithincomprehension.“How?”
Iblinkathim.How…how?Whatsortofridiculousquestionisthat?Iblush,
andgivehimaquizzicalhow-do-you-thinklook.Hisstancechanges
immediately,hiseyeshardeningtoflint.
“Yourshot?”hesnarls.
Ohshit.
“Didyouforgetyourshot?”
Ijustgazeathimunabletospeak.Jeez,he’smad—reallymad.
“Christ,Ana!”Hebangshisfistonthetable,makingmejump,andstandsso
abruptlyhealmostknocksthediningchairover.“Youhaveonething,one
thingtoremember.Shit!Idon’tfuckingbelieveit.Howcouldyoubeso
stupid?”
Stupid!Igasp.Shit.Iwanttotellhimthattheshotwasineffective,butwords
failme.Igazedownatmyfingers.“I’msorry,”Iwhisper.
“Sorry?Fuck!”hesaysagain.
“Iknowthetiming’snotverygood.”
387|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Notverygood!”heshouts.“We’veknowneachotherfivefuckingminutes.I
wantedtoshowyouthefuckingworldandnow…Fuck.Diapersandvomit
andshit!”Hecloseshiseyes.Ithinkhe’stryingtocontainhistemperand
losingthebattle.
“Didyouforget?Tellme.Ordidyoudothisonpurpose?”Hiseyesblazeand
angeremanatesoffhimlikeaforcefield.
“No,”Iwhisper.Ican’ttellhimaboutHannah—he’dfireher.Iknow.
“Ithoughtwe’dagreedonthis!”heshouts.
“Iknow.Wehad.I’msorry.”
Heignoresme.“Thisiswhy.ThisiswhyIlikecontrol.Sothingslikethis
don’tcomealongandfuckeverythingup.”
Thing…littleBlipisnotathing.“Christian,pleasedon’tshoutatme.”Tears
starttoslipdownmyface.
“Don’tstartwithwaterworksnow,”hesnaps.“Fuck.”Herunsahandthrough
hishair,pullingatitashedoes.“YouthinkI’mreadytobeafather?”His
voicecatches,andit’samixtureofrageandpanic.Anditallbecomesclear,
thefearandloathingwritlargeinhiseyes—hisrageisthatofapowerless
adolescent.OhFifty,Iamsosorry.It’sashockforme,too.
“Iknowneitheroneofusisreadyforthis,butIthinkyou’llmakea
wonderfulfather,”Ichoke.“We’llfigureitout.”
“Howthefuckdoyouknow!”heshouts,louderthistime.“Tellmehow!”His
grayeyesburn,andsomanyemotionscrosshisface.It’sfearthat’smost
prominent.
“Ohfuckthis!”Christianbellowsdismissivelyandholdshishandsupina
gestureofdefeat.Heturnsonhisheelandstalkstowardthefoyer,grabbing
hisjacketasheleavesthegreatroom.Hisfootstepsechooffthewooden
floor,andhedisappearsthroughthedoubledoorsintothefoyer,slammingthe
doorbehindhimandmakingmejumponcemore.
AllIamleftwithisthesilence—thestill,silentemptinessofthegreatroom.I
shudderinvoluntarilyasIgazenumblyatthecloseddoors.He’swalkedout
onme.Shit!HisreactionisfarworsethanIcouldeverhaveimagined.Ipush
myplateawayandfoldmyarmsonthetable,lettingmyheadsinkintothem
whileIweep.388|Page
ELJAMES
“Ana,dear.”Mrs.Jonesishoveringbesideme.
Oh.Isitupquickly,dashingthetearsfrommyface.
“Iheard.I’msorry,”shesaysgently.“Wouldyoulikeanherbalteaor
something?”
“I’dlikeaglassofwhitewine.”
Mrs.Jonespausesforafractionofasecond,andIremembertheBlip.NowI
can’tdrinkalcohol.CanI?Imuststudythedosanddon’tsDr.Greenegave
me.
“I’llgetyouaglass.”
“Actually,I’llhaveacupoftea,please.”Iwipemynose.Shesmileskindly.
“Cupofteacomingup.”Sheclearsourplatesandheadsovertothekitchen
area.Ifollowherandperchonastool,watchingherpreparemytea.
Sheplacesasteamingmuginfrontofme.“IsthereanythingelseIcangetfor
you,Ana?”
“No,thisisfine,thankyou.”
“Areyousure?Youdidn’teatmuch.”
Igazeupather.“I’mjustnothungry.”
“Ana,youshouldeat.It’snotjustyouanymore.Pleaseletmefixyou
something.Whatwouldyoulike?”Shelookssohopefullyatme.Butreally,I
can’tfaceanything.
MyhusbandhasjustwalkedoutonmebecauseI’mpregnant,myfatherhas
beeninamajorcaraccident,andthere’sJackHydethenutcasetryingtomake
outthatIsexuallyharassedhim.Isuddenlyhaveanuncontrollableurgeto
giggle.Seewhatyou’vedonetome,LittleBlip!Icaressmybelly.
Mrs.Jonessmilesindulgentlyatme.“Doyouknowhowfaryouare?”she
askssoftly.
“Verynewlypregnant.Fourorfiveweeks,thedoctorisn’tsure.”
“Ifyouwon’teat,thenatleastyoushouldrest.”
Inod,andtakingmytea,Iheadintothelibrary.It’smyrefuge.Idigmy
BlackBerryoutofmypurseandcontemplatecallingChristian.Iknowit’sa
shockforhim—buthereallydidoverreact.Whendoeshenotoverreact?My
subconsciousarchesafinelypluckedbrowatme.Isigh.FiftyShadesof
fuckedup.
389|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Yes,that’syourdaddy,LittleBlip.Hopefullyhe’llcooloffandcomeback
…soon.”
Ipullouttheleafletofdosanddon’tsandsitdowntoread.Ican’t
concentrate.Christian’sneverwalkedoutonmebefore.He’sbeenso
thoughtfulandkindoverthelastfewdays,solovingandnow…Supposehe
nevercomesback?Shit!PerhapsIshouldcallFlynn.Idon’tknowwhattodo.
I’mataloss.He’ssofragile,insomanyways,andIknewhe’dreactbadlyto
thenews.Hewassosweetthisweekend.Allthosecircumstanceswaybeyond
hiscontrol,yethemanagedfine.Butthisnewswastoomuch.
EversinceImethim,mylifehasbeencomplicated.Isithim?Isitthetwoof
ustogether?Supposehedoesn’tgetpastthis?Supposehewantsadivorce?
Bilerisesinmythroat.No.Imustn’tthinkthisway.He’llbeback.Hewill.I
knowhewill.Iknowinspiteofalltheshoutingandhisharshwordsheloves
me…yes.Andhe’llloveyou,too,LittleBlip.
Leaningbackinmychair,Istarttodoze.
Iwakecoldanddisorientated.ShiveringIcheckmywatch;eleveninthe
evening.Ohyes…You.Ipatmybelly.Where’sChristian?Isheback?Stiffly
Ieaseoutofthearmchairandgoinsearchofmyhusband.Fiveminuteslater,
Irealizehe’snothome.Ihopenothing’shappenedtohim.Memoriesofthe
longwaitwhenCharlieTangowentmissingfloodback.
No,no,no.Stopthinkinglikethis.He’sprobablygoneto…where?Who
wouldhegoandsee?Elliot?Ormaybehe’swithFlynn.Ihopeso.Ifindmy
BlackBerrybackinthelibrary,andItexthim.
*Whereareyou?*
Iheadintothebathroomandrunmyselfabath.Iamsocold.
Hestillhasn’treturnedwhenIclimboutofthebath.Ichangeintooneofmy
1930s-stylesatinnightdressesandmyrobeandheadtothegreatroom.Onthe
way,Ipopintothesparebedroom.Perhapsthiscouldbe390|Page
ELJAMES
LittleBlip’sroom.Iamstartledbythethoughtandstandinthedoorway,
contemplatingthisreality.Willwepaintitblueorpink?Thesweetthoughtis
souredbythefactthatmyhusbandissopissedattheideaandisabsent.
Grabbingtheduvetfromthesparebed,Iheadintothegreatroomtokeep
vigil.
Somethingwakesme.Asound.
“Shit!”
It’sChristianinthefoyer.Ihearthetablescrapeacrosstheflooragain.
“Shit!”herepeats,moremuffledthistime.
Iscrambleupintimetoseehimstaggerthroughthedoubledoors.He’s
drunk.Myscalpprickles.Shit,Christiandrunk?Iknowhowmuchhehates
drunks.Ileapupandruntowardhim.
“Christian,areyouokay?”
Heleansagainstthejambofthefoyerdoors.“Mrs.Grey,”heslurs.Crap.
He’sverydrunk.Idon’tknowwhattodo.
“Oh…youlookmightyfine,Anastasia.”
“Wherehaveyoubeen?”
Heputshisfingerstohislipsandsmilescrookedlyatme.“Shh!”
“Ithinkyou’dbettercometobed.”
“Withyou…”Hesnickers.
Snickering!Frowning,Igentlyputmyarmaroundhiswaistbecausehecan
hardlystand,letalonewalk.Wherehashebeen?Howdidhegethome?
“Letmehelpyoutobed.Leanonme.”
“Youareverybeautiful,Ana.”Heleansontomeandsniffsmyhair,almost
knockingbothofusover.
“Christian,walk.Iamgoingtoputyoutobed.”
“Okay,”hesaysasifhe’stryingtoconcentrate.
Westumbledownthecorridorandfinallymakeitintothebedroom.
“Bed,”hesays,grinning.
“Yes,bed.”Imaneuverhimtotheedge,butheholdsme.
“Joinme,”hesays.
“Christian,Ithinkyouneedsomesleep.”
“Andsoitbegins.I’veheardaboutthis.”
391|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ifrown.“Heardaboutwhat?”
“Babiesmeannosex.”
“I’msurethat’snottrue.Otherwisewe’dallcomefromone-childfamilies.”
Hegazesdownatme.“You’refunny.”
“You’redrunk.”
“Yes.”Hesmiles,buthissmilechangesashethinksaboutit,andahaunted
expressioncrosseshisface,alookthatchillsmetothebone.
“Comeon,Christian,”Isaygently.Ihatehisexpression.Itspeaksofhorrid,
uglymemoriesthatnochildshouldsee.“Let’sgetyouintobed.”Ipushhim
gentlyandheflopsdownontothemattress,sprawlinginalldirectionsand
grinningupatme,hishauntedexpressiongone.
“Joinme,”heslurs.
“Let’sgetyouundressedfirst.”
Hegrinswidely,drunkenly.“Nowyou’retalking.”
Holycow.DrunkChristianiscuteandplayful.I’lltakehimovermad-as-hell
Christiananytime.
“Situp.Letmetakeyourjacketoff.”
“Theroomisspinning.”
Shit…ishegoingtothrowup?“Christian,situp!”
Hesmirksupatme.“Mrs.Grey,youareabossylittlething…”
“Yes.Doasyou’retoldandsitup.”Iputmyhandsonmyhips.Hegrins
again,strugglesupontohiselbowsthensitsupinamostunChristian-like,
gawkyfashion.Beforehecanflopdownagain,Igrabhistieandwrestlehim
outofhisgrayjacket,onearmatatime.
“Yousmellgood.”
“Yousmellofhardliquor.”
“Yes…bour-bon.”HepronouncesthesyllableswithsuchexaggerationthatI
havetostifleagiggle.Discardinghisjacketonthefloorbesideme,Imakea
startonhistie.Herestshishandsonmyhips.
“Ilikethefeelofthisfabriconyou,Anastasia,”hesays,slurringhiswords.
“Youshouldalwaysbeinsatinorsilk.”Herunshishandsupanddownmy
hipsthenjerksmeforward,pressinghismouthagainstmybelly.
“Andwehaveaninvaderinhere.”
Istopbreathing.Holycow.He’stalkingtoLittleBlip.
“You’regoingtokeepmeawake,aren’tyou?”hesaystomybelly.392|Pag
e
ELJAMES
Ohmy.Christianlooksupatmethroughhislongdarklashes,grayeyes
blurredandcloudy.Myheartconstricts.
“You’llchoosehimoverme,”hesayssadly.
“Christian,youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.Don’tberidiculous—I
amnotchoosinganyoneoveranyone.Andhemightbeashe.”
Hefrowns.“Ashe…OhGod.”Heflopsbackdownontothebedandcovers
hiseyeswithhisarm.Ihavemanagedtoloosenhistie.Ibend,undoone
shoelace,andyankoffhisshoeandsock.Imakeastartontheotherand
succeedinnotime.WhenIstand,IseewhyI’vemetnoresistance—Christian
haspassedoutcompletely.He’ssoundasleepandsnoringsoftly.
Istareathim.He’ssogoddamnedbeautiful,evendrunkandsnoring.His
sculpturedlipsparted,onearmabovehishead,rufflinghismessyhair,his
facerelaxed.Helooksyoung—butthenheisyoung;myyoung,stressedout,
drunk,unhappyhusband.Thethoughtliesheavyinmyheart.Well,atleast
he’shome.Iwonderwherehewent.I’mnotsureIhavetheenergyorthe
strengthtomovehimorundresshimanyfurther.He’sontopoftheduvet,
too.Headingbackintothegreatroom,IpickuptheduvetIwasusingand
bringitbacktoourbedroom.
He’sstillfastasleep,stillwearinghistieandhisbelt.Iclimbontothebed
besidehim,loosenhistiefurtherthenremoveitandgentlyundothetop
buttonofhisshirt.Hemumblessomethingincoherentinhissleep,buthe
doesn’twake.Carefully,Iunbucklehisbeltandpullitthroughthebeltloops,
andaftersomedifficultyit’soff.Hisshirthascomedislodgedfromhispants,
revealingahintofhishappytrail.Ican’tresist.Ibendandkissit.Heshifts,
flexinghishipsforward,butstaysasleep.
Isitupandgazeathimagain.OhFifty,Fifty,Fifty…whatamIgoingtodo
withyou?Ibrushmyfingersthroughhishair.It’ssosoft.Ileandownand
kisshistemple.
“Iloveyou,Christian.Evenwhenyou’redrunkandyou’vebeenoutGod
knowswhere,Iloveyou.I’llalwaysloveyou.”
“Hmmm,”hemurmurs.Ikisshistempleoncemore,thengetoffthebed,and
coverhimupwiththespareduvet.Icansleepbesidehim,sidewaysacross
thebed…yes,I’lldothat.
393|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
FirstI’llsortouthisclothes,though.Ishakemyheadandpickuphissocks
andtie,andfoldhisjacketovermyarm.AsIdo,hisBlackBerryfallstothe
floor.Ipickitupandinadvertentlyunlockit.Itopensonthetextsscreen.I
canseemytext,andaboveit,another.Fuck.Myscalpprickles.
*Itwasgoodtoseeyou.Iunderstandnow.
Don’tfret.You’llmakeawonderfulfather.*
It’sfromher.Mrs.ElenaBitchTrollRobinson.Shit.That’swherehewent.
He’sbeentoseeher.
394|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterTwenty-One
Igapeatthetextthenlookupatthesleepingformofmyhusband.He’sbeen
outuntilonethirtyinthemorningdrinking—withher!Hesnoressoftly,
sleepingthesleepofaseeminglyinnocent,obliviousdrunk.Helooksso
serene.Ohno,no,no.
Mylegsturntojelly,andIsinkslowlytothechairbesidethebedindisbelief.
Raw,bitter,humiliatingbetrayallancesthroughme.Howcouldhe?How
couldhegotoher?Scalding,angrytearsoozedownmycheeks.Hiswrath
andfear,hisneedtolashoutatmeIcanunderstand,andforgive—just.But
this…thistreacheryistoomuch.Ipullmykneesupagainstmychestand
wrapmyarmsaroundthem,protectingmeandprotectingmyLittleBlip.I
rocktoandfro,weepingsoftly.WhatdidIexpect?Imarriedthismantoo
quickly.Iknewit—Iknewitwouldcometothis.Why.Why.Why?How
couldhedothistome?HeknowshowIfeelaboutthatwoman.Howcould
heturntoher?
How?Theknifetwistsslowandpainfullydeepinmyheart,laceratingme.
Willitalwaysbethisway?
Thetearsflow,andhisprostratefigureblursandshimmersthroughmytears.
Oh,Christian.ImarriedhimbecauseIlovehim,anddeepdownIknowthat
helovesme.Iknowhedoes.Hisachinglysweetbirthdaypresentcomesto
mind.
Forallourfirstsonyourfirstbirthdayasmybelovedwife.Iloveyou.Cx
No,no,no—Ican’tbelievethatitwillalwaysbethisway,twostepsforward
andthreestepsback.Butthat’showit’salwaysbeenwithhim.Aftereach
setback,wemoveforward,inchbyinch.Hewillcomearound…hewill.But
willI?WillIrecoverfromthis…fromthistreachery?Ithinkabouthowhe’s
beenthislast,horrible,wonderfulweekend.Hisquietstrengthwhilemy
stepdadlaybrokenandcomatoseintheICU…mysurpriseparty,bringing
myfamilyandfriendstogether…dippingmedownlowoutsidethe
Heathmanandkissingmeinfullpublicview.Oh,Christian,youstrainallmy
trust,allmy395|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
faith…andIloveyou.
Butit’snotjustmenow.Iplacemyhandonmybelly.No,Iwillnotlethim
dothistomeandourBlip.Dr.FlynnsaidIshouldgivehimthebenefitofthe
doubt—well,notthistime.Idashthetearsfrommyeyesandwipemynose
withthebackofmyhand.
Christianstirsandrollsover,pullinghislegsupfromthesideofthebed,and
curlsupbeneaththeduvet.Hestretchesoutahandasifsearchingfor
something,thengrumblesandfrownsbutsettlesbacktosleep,hisarm
outstretched.
Oh,Fifty.WhatamIgoingtodowithyou?Andwhatthehellwereyoudoing
withtheBitchTroll?Ineedtoknow.Iglanceoncemoreattheoffendingtext
andquicklyhatchaplan.Takingadeepbreath,Iforwardthetexttomy
BlackBerry.Steponecomplete.Iquicklychecktheotherrecenttexts,butcan
onlyseemessagesfromElliot,Andrea,Taylor,Ros,andme.Nonefrom
Elena.Good,Ithink.Iexitthetextscreen,relievedthathehasn’tbeentexting
her,andmyheartlurchesintomythroat.Ohmy.Thewallpaperonhisphone
isphotographuponphotographofme,apatchworkoftinyAnastasiasin
variousposes—ourhoneymoon,ourrecentweekendsailingandsoaring,and
afewofJosé’sphotos,too.Whendidhedothis?Itmusthavebeenrecently.
Inoticehise-mailicon,andanideaslithersenticinglyintomymind…I
couldreadChristian’se-mails.Seeifhe’sbeentalkingtoher.ShouldI?
Sheathedinjade-greensilk,myinnergoddessnodsemphatically,hermouth
setinascowl.BeforeIcanstopmyself,Iinvadehisprivacy.
Therearehundredsandhundredsofe-mails.Ispindownthroughthem,and
theylookdullasditchwater…mostlyfromRos,Andreaandme,andvarious
executivesinhiscompany.NonefromBitchTroll.WhileI’matit,I’m
relievedtoseetherearenonefromLeilaeither.Onee-mailcatchesmyeye.
It’sfromBarneySullivan,Christian’sITguy,andthesubjectlineis:Jack
Hyde.IglanceguiltilyatChristian,buthe’sstillsnoringgently.I’venever
heardhimsnore.Iopentheemail.
From:BarneySullivan
396|Page
ELJAMES
Subject:JackHyde
Date:September13,201114:09
To:ChristianGrey
CCTVaroundSeattletracksthewhitevanfromSouthIrvingStreet.Before
thatIcanfindnotracesoHydemusthavebeenbasedinthatarea.
AsWelchhastoldyoutheunsubcarwasrentedwithafalselicensebyan
unknownfemale,nothingthattiesuptotheSouthIrvingStreetarea.
DetailsofknownGEHandSIPemployeeswholiveintheareaareinthe
attachedfile,whichIhaveforwardedtoWelch,too.Therewasnothingon
Hyde’sSIPcomputerabouthisformerPAs.
Asareminder,hereisalistofwhatwasretrievedfromHyde’sSIPcomputer.
Greys’HomeAddresses:
FivepropertiesinSeattle
TwopropertiesinDetroit
DetailedResumésfor:
CarrickGrey
ElliotGrey
ChristianGrey
Dr.GraceTrevelyan
AnastasiaSteele
MiaGrey
Newspaperandonlinearticlesrelatingto:
Dr.GraceTrevelyan
CarrickGrey
ChristianGrey
ElliotGrey
397|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Photographs:
CarrickGrey
Dr.GraceTrevelyan
ChristianGrey
ElliotGrey
MiaGrey
I’lcontinuemyinvestigation,seewhatelseIcanfind.BSullivan
HeadofIT,GEH.
Thisodde-mailmomentarilysidetracksmefrommynightofwoe.Iclickon
theattachmenttocheckthroughthenamesonthelist,butit’sobviouslyhuge,
toobigtoopenontheBlackBerry.
WhatamIdoing?It’slate.I’vehadatiringday.Therearenoemailsfromthe
BitchTrollorLeilaWilliams,andItakesomecoldcomfortfromthat.I
glancequicklyatthealarmclock:it’sjustaftertwointhemorning.Todayhas
beenadayofrevelations.Iamtobeamother,andmyhusbandhasbeen
fraternizingwiththeenemy.Well,lethimstew.Iamnotsleepingherewith
him—hecanwakeupalonetomorrow.AfterplacinghisBlackBerryonthe
bedsidetable,Iretrievemypursefrombesidethebedand,afteronelastlook
atmyangelic,sleepingJudas,Ileavethebedroom.
Thespareplayroomkeyisinitsusualplaceinthecabinetintheutilityroom.
Igrabitandscootupstairs.Fromthelinencloset,Iretrieveapillow,duvet
andsheet,thenunlocktheplayroomdoorandenter,switchingthelightsto
dim.OddthatIfindthesmellandambienceofthisroomsocomforting,
consideringIsafewordedthelasttimewewereinhere.Ilockthedoor
behindme,leavingthekeyinthelock.Iknowthattomorrowmorning
Christianwillbefrantictofindme,andIdon’tthinkhe’lllookinhereifthe
door’slocked.Well,itwillservehimright.
IcurlupontheChesterfieldcouch,wrapmyselfintheduvetanddragmy
BlackBerryfrommypurse.Checkingmytexts,Ifindtheonefromtheevil
BitchTrollthatIforwardedfromChristian’sphone.I398|Page
ELJAMES
press‘Forward’andtype:
*WOULDYOULIKEMRS.LINCOLNTOJOINUSWHENWE
EVENTUALLYDISCUSSTHISTEXTSHESENTTOYOU?IT
WILLSAVEYOURUNNINGTOHERAFTERWARD.YOUR
WIFE*
Ipress‘Send’andswitchthevolumetomute.Ihuddleundermyduvet.For
allmybravado,I’moverwhelmedbytheenormityofChristian’sdeceit.This
shouldbeahappytime—jeez,we’regoingtobeparents.Briefly,Irelive
tellingChristianthatI’mpregnantandfantasizethathefallstohiskneeswith
joyinfrontofme,pullingmeintohisarmsandontohislaptellingmehow
muchhelovesmeandourLittleBlip.YethereIam,aloneandcoldina
BDSMfantasyplayroom.SuddenlyIfeelold,olderthanmyyears.Takingon
Christianwasalwaysgoingtobeachallenge,buthereallyhassurpassed
himselfthistime.Whatwashethinking?Well,ifhewantsafight,I’llgive
himafight.NowayamIgoingtolethimgetawaywithrunningofftosee
thatmonstrouswomanwheneverwehaveaproblem.He’sgoingtohaveto
choose—herormeandourLittleBlip.Isnifflesoftly,butbecauseI’mso
exhausted,Isoonfallasleep.
Iwakewithastart,momentarilydisorientated…ohyes—I’minthe
playroom.Becausetherearenowindows,Ihavenoideawhattimeitis.The
doorhandlerattles.
“Ana!”Christianshoutsfromoutsidethedoor.Ifreeze…buthedoesn’t
comein.Ihearmuffledvoices,buttheymoveaway.Iexhaleandcheckthe
timeonmyBlackBerry.It’ssevenfifty,andIhavefourmissedcallsandtwo
voicemessages.ThemissedcallsaremostlyfromChristian,butthere’salso
onefromKate.Ohno,hemusthavecalledher.Idon’thavetimetolistento
them.Idon’twanttobelateforwork.Iwraptheduvetaroundmeandpick
upmypursebeforemakingmywaytothedoor.Unlockingitslowly,Ipeek
outside.Nosignofanyone.Ohshit…perhapsthisisabitmelodramatic.I
rollmyeyesatmyself,takeadeepbreathandheaddownstairs.
Taylor,Sawyer,Ryan,Mrs.Jones,andChristianareallstandingin399|Pag
e
FiftyShadesFreed
theentrancetothegreatroom,andChristianissuingrapid-fireinstructions.
Asonetheyallturnandgapeatme.Christianisstillwearingtheclotheshe
sleptinlastnight.Helooksdisheveled,pale,andheart-stoppinglybeautiful.
Hislargegrayeyesarewide,andIdon’tknowifhe’sfearfulorangry.It’s
difficulttotell.
“Sawyer,I’llbereadytoleaveinabouttwentyminutes,”Imutter,wrapping
theduvettighteraroundmeforprotection.Henods,andalleyesturnto
Christian,whoisstillstaringintenselyatme.
“Wouldyoulikesomebreakfast,Mrs.Grey?”Mrs.Jonesasks.Ishakemy
head.
“I’mnothungry,thankyou.”Shepursesherlipsbutsaysnothing.
“Wherewereyou?”Christianasks,hisvoicelowandhusky.Suddenly
Sawyer,Taylor,RyanandMrs.Jonesscatter,scurryingintoTaylor’soffice,
intothefoyer,andintothekitchenliketerrifiedratsfromasinkingship.
IignoreChristianandmarchtowardourbedroom.
“Ana,”hecallsafterme,“answerme.”IhearhisfootstepsbehindmeasI
walkintothebedroomandcontinueintoourbathroom.Quickly,Iturnand
lockthedoor.
“Ana!”Christianknocksonthedoor.Iturnontheshower.Thedoorrattles.
“Ana,openthedamneddoor.”
“Goaway!”
“I’mnotgoinganywhere.”
“Suityourself.”
“Ana,please.”
Iclimbintotheshower,effectivelyblockinghimout.Oh,it’swarm.The
healingwatercascadesoverme,cleansingtheexhaustionofthenightoffmy
skin.Ohmy.Thisfeelssogood.Foramoment,foroneshortmoment,Ican
pretendalliswell.IwashmyhairandbythetimeI’vefinished,Ifeelbetter,
stronger,readytofacethefreighttrainthatisChristianGrey.Iwrapmyhair
inatowel,brisklydrymyselfwithanothertowel,andwrapitaroundme.
IunlockthedoorandopenitandfindChristianisleaningagainstthewall
opposite,hishandsbehindhisback.Hisexpressioniswary,thatofahunted
predator.Istridepasthimintoourwalk-incloset.
“Areyouignoringme?”Christianasksindisbeliefashestandson400|Pag
e
ELJAMES
thethresholdofthecloset.
“Perceptive,aren’tyou?”ImurmurabsentmindedlyasIsearchforsomething
towear.Ah,yes—myplumdress.Islideitoffthehanger,choosemyhigh
blackstilettoboots,andheadforthebedroom.IpauseforChristiantostep
outofmyway,whichhedoes,eventually—hisintrinsicgoodmannerstaking
over.IsensehiseyesboringintomeasIwalkovertomychestofdrawers,
andIpeekathiminthemirror,standingmotionlessinthedoorway,watching
me.InanactworthyofanOscarwinner,Iletmytowelfalltothefloorand
pretendthatIamoblivioustomynakedbody.Ihearhisrestrainedgaspand
ignoreit.
“Whyareyoudoingthis?”heasks.Hisvoiceislow.
“Whydoyouthink?”MyvoiceisvelvetsoftasIpulloutaprettypairof
blacklaceLaPerlapanties.
“Ana—”HestopsasIshimmyintothem.
“GoaskyourMrs.Robinson.I’msureshe’llhaveanexplanationforyou,”I
mutterasIsearchforthematchingbra.
“Ana,I’vetoldyoubefore,she’snotmy—”
“Idon’twanttohearit,Christian.”Iwavemyhanddismissively.
“Thetimefortalkingwasyesterday,butinsteadyoudecidedtorantandget
drunkwiththewomanwhoabusedyouforyears.Giveheracall.Iamsure
she’llbemorethanwillingtolistentoyounow.”Ifindthematchingbraand
slowlypullitonandfastenit.Christianwalksfurtherintothebedroomand
placeshishandsonhiships.
“Whywereyousnoopingonme?”hesays.
InspiteofmyresolveIflush.“That’snotthepoint,Christian,”Isnapathim.
“Factis,goinggetstoughandyouruntoher.”
Hismouthsettlesintoagrimline.“Itwasn’tlikethat.”
“I’mnotinterested.”Pickingapairofblackthighhighswithlaceytops,I
retreattothebed.Isit,pointmytoe,andgentlyeasethegossamermaterialup
tomythigh.
“Wherewereyou?”heasks,hiseyesfollowingmyhandsupmylegs,butI
continuetoignorehimasIslowlyrollontheotherstocking.Standing,Ibend
totowel-drymyhair.Throughmypartedthighs,Icanseehisbarefeet,andI
sensehisintensegaze.WhenI’vefinished,Istandandstepbacktothechest
ofdrawerswhereIgrabmyhairdryer.
“Answerme.”Christian’svoiceislowandhusky.
IswitchonthehairdryersoIcannolongerhearhimandwatchhim401|Pa
ge
FiftyShadesFreed
throughmylashesinthemirrorasIfingerdrymyhair.Heglaresatme,eyes
narrowandcool,chillingeven.Ilookaway,focusingonthetaskathandand
tryingtosuppresstheshiverthatrunsthroughme.Iswallowhardand
concentrateondryingmyhair.He’sstillmad.Hegoesoutwiththatdamned
woman,andhe’smadatme?Howdarehe!
Whenmyhairlookswildanduntamed,Istop.Yes…Ilikeit.Iswitchoffthe
hairdryer.
“Wherewereyou?”hewhispers,histonearctic.
“Whatdoyoucare?”
“Ana,stopthis.Now.”
Ishrug,andChristianmovesquicklyacrosstheroomtowardme.Iwhirl
around,steppingbackashereachesout.
“Don’ttouchme,”Ihissandhefreezes.
“Wherewereyou?”hedemands.Hishandsfistathisside.
“Iwasn’toutgettingdrunkwithmyex,”Iseethe.“Didyousleepwithher?”
Hegasps.“What?No!”Hegapesatmeandhasthegalltolookwoundedand
angryatthesametime.Mysubconsciousbreathesasmall,welcomesighof
relief.
“YouthinkI’dcheatonyou?”Histoneisoneofmoraloutrage.
“Youdid,”Isnarl.“Bytakingourveryprivatelifeandspillingyourspineless
gutstothatwoman.”
Hismouthdropsopen.“Spineless.That’swhatyouthink?”Hiseyesblaze.
“Christian,Isawthetext.That’swhatIknow.”
“Thattextwasnotmeantforyou,”hegrowls.
“Well,factisIsawitwhenyourBlackBerryfelloutofyourjacketwhileI
wasundressingyoubecauseyouweretoodrunktoundressyourself.Doyou
haveanyideahowmuchyou’vehurtmebygoingtoseethatwoman?”
Hepalesmomentarily,butI’monaroll,myinnerbitchunleashed.
“Doyourememberlastnightwhenyoucamehome?Rememberwhatyou
said?”
Hestaresatmeblankly,hisfacefrozen.
“Well,youwereright.Idochoosethisdefenselessbabyoveryou.That’s
whatanylovingparentdoes.That’swhatyourmothershouldhavedonefor
you.AndIamsorrythatshedidn’t—becausewe402|Page
ELJAMES
wouldn’tbehavingthisconversationrightnowifshehad.Butyou’reanadult
now—youneedtogrowupandsmellthefuckingcoffeeandstopbehaving
likeapetulantadolescent.
“Youmaynotbehappyaboutthisbaby.I’mnotecstatic,giventhetimingand
yourless-than-lukewarmreceptiontothisnewlife,thisfleshofyourflesh.
Butyoucaneitherdothiswithme,orI’lldoitonmyown.Thedecisionis
yours.
“Whileyouwallowinyourpitofself-pityandself-loathing,I’mgoingto
work.AndwhenIreturnI’llbemovingmybelongingstotheroomupstairs.”
Heblinksatme,shocked.
“Now,ifyou’llexcuseme,I’dliketofinishgettingdressed.”Iambreathing
hard.Veryslowly,Christianretreatsonestep,hisdemeanorhardening.
“Isthatwhatyouwant?”hewhispers.
“Idon’tknowwhatIwantanymore.”Mytonemirrorshis,andittakesa
monumentalefforttofeigndisinterestwhileIcasuallydipthetipsofmy
fingersintomymoisturizerandsmoothitgentlyovermyface.Ipeerat
myselfinthemirror.Blueeyeswide,facepale,butcheeksflushed.You’re
doinggreat.Don’tbackdownnow.Don’tbackdownnow.
“Youdon’twantme?”hewhispers.
Oh—no…ohnoyoudon’t,Grey.
“I’mstillherearen’tI?”Isnap.Takingmymascara,Iapplysomefirsttomy
righteye.
“You’vethoughtaboutleaving?”Hiswordsarebarelyaudible.
“Whenone’shusbandprefersthecompanyofhisex-mistressit’susuallynota
goodsign.”Ipitchthedisdainatjusttherightlevel,evadinghisquestion.Lip
glossnow.Ipoutmyshinylipsattheimageinthemirror.Staystrong,Steele
…um—Grey.Holyfuck,Ican’tevenremembermyname.Ipickupmy
boots,strideovertothebedoncemore,andquicklyputthemon,tugging
themupovermyknees.Yep.Ilookhotjustinunderwearandboots.Iknow.
Standing,Igazedispassionatelyathim.Heblinksatme,andhiseyestravel
swiftlyandgreedilydownmybody.
“Iknowwhatyou’redoinghere,”hemurmurs,andhisvoicehasacquireda
warm,seductiveedge.
403|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Doyou?”Andmyvoicecracks.No,Ana…holdon.Heswallowsandtakes
astepforward.Istepbackandholdmyhandsup.
“Don’teventhinkaboutit,Grey,”Iwhispermenacingly.
“You’remywife,”hesayssoftly,threateningly.
“I’mthepregnantwomanyouabandonedyesterday,andifyoutouchmeI
willscreamtheplacedown.”
Hiseyebrowsriseindisbelief.“You’dscream?”
“Bloodymurder.”Inarrowmyeyes.
“Noonewouldhearyou,”hemurmurs,hisgazeintense,andbrieflyI’m
remindedofourmorninginAspen.No.No.No.
“Areyoutryingtofrightenme?”Imutterbreathless,deliberatelytryingto
derailhim.
Itworks.Hestillsandswallows.“Thatwasn’tmyintention.”Hefrowns.
Icanbarelybreathe.Ifhetouchesme,Iwillsuccumb.Iknowthepowerhe
wieldsovermeandovermytraitorousbody.Iknow.Ihangontomyanger.
“IhadadrinkwithsomeoneIusedtobecloseto.Weclearedtheair.Iamnot
goingtoseeheragain.”
“Yousoughtherout?”
“Notatfirst.ItriedtoseeFlynn.ButIfoundmyselfatthesalon.”
“Andyouexpectmetobelieveyou’renotgoingtoseeheragain?”Icannot
containmyfuryasIhissathim.“WhataboutthenexttimeIstepacrosssome
imaginaryline?Thisisthesameargumentwehaveoverandoveragain.Like
we’reonsomeIxionwheel.IfIfuckupagain,areyougoingtorunbackto
her?”
“Iamnotgoingtoseeheragain,”hesayswithachillingfinality.
“ShefinallyunderstandshowIfeel.”
Iblinkathim.“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Hestraightensandrunsahandthroughhishair,exasperatedandangryand
mute.Itryadifferenttack.
“Whycanyoutalktoherandnottome?”
“Iwasmadatyou.LikeIamnow.”
“Youdon’tsay!”Isnap.“WellIammadatyourightnow.Madatyoufor
beingsocoldandcallousyesterdaywhenIneededyou.Madatyouforsaying
Igotknockedupdeliberately,whenIdidn’t.Madatyou404|Page
ELJAMES
forbetrayingme.”Imanagetosuppressasob.Hismouthdropsopenin
shock,andhecloseshiseyesbrieflyasifI’dslappedhim.Iswallow.Calm
down,Anastasia.
“Ishouldhavekeptbettertrackofmyshots.ButIdidn’tdoitonpurpose.It
looksliketheshotfailed.Idon’tknowyet.Thispregnancyisashocktome,
too.”Imutter,tryingforamodicumofcivility.Heglaresatme,silent.
“Youreallyfuckedupyesterday,”Iwhisper.“I’vehadalottodealwithover
thelastfewweeks.”
“Youreallyfuckedupthreeorfourweeksago.Orwheneveryouforgotyour
shot.”
“GodforbidIshouldbeperfectlikeyou.”
Ohstop,stop,stop.Westandgloweringateachother.
“Thisisquiteaperformance,Mrs.Grey,”hewhispers.
“Well,I’mgladthatevenknockedupI’mentertaining.”
Hestaresatmeblankly.“Ineedashower,”hemurmurs.
“AndI’veprovidedenoughofafloorshow.”
“It’samightyfinefloorshow,”hewhispers.Hestepsforward,andIstepback
again.
“Don’t.”
“Ihatethatyouwon’tletmetouchyou.”
“Ironic,huh?”
Hiseyesnarrowoncemore.“Wehaven’tresolvedmuch,havewe?”
“I’dsaynot.ExceptthatI’mmovingoutofthisbedroom.”
Hiseyesflareandwidenbriefly.“Shedoesn’tmeananythingtome.”
“Exceptwhenyouneedher.”
“Idon’tneedher.Ineedyou.”
“Youdidn’tyesterday.Thatwomanisahardlimitforme,Christian.”
“She’soutofmylife.”
“IwishIcouldbelieveyou.”
“Forfuck’ssake,Ana.”
“Pleaseletmegetdressed.”
Hesighsandrunsahandthroughhishaironcemore.“I’llseeyouthis
evening,”hesays,hisvoicebleakanddevoidoffeeling.Andforabrief
momentIwanttotakehiminmyarmsandsoothehim…butI405|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
resistbecauseI’mjusttoomad.Heturnsandheadsforthebathroom.Istand
frozenuntilIhearthedoorclose.
Istaggertothebedandflopdownontoit.Myinnergoddessandmy
subconsciousarebothgivingmeastandingovation.Ididnotresorttotears,
shouting,ormurder,nordidIsuccumbtohissexpertise.Ideservea
CongressionalMedalofHonor,butIfeelsolow.Shit.Weresolvednothing.
We’reontheedgeofaprecipice.Isourmarriageisatstakehere?Whycan’t
heseewhatacompleteandutterasshe’sbeenrunningtothatwoman?And
whatdoeshemeanwhenhesayshe’llneverseeheragain?Howoneartham
Isupposedtobelievethat?Iglanceattheradioalarm—it’seightthirty.Shit!
I’lldon’twanttobelate.Itakeadeepbreath.
“RoundTwowasastalemate,LittleBlip,”Iwhisper,pattingmybelly.
“Daddymaybealostcause,butIhopenot.Why,ohwhy,didyoucomeso
early,LittleBlip?Thingswerejustgettinggood.”Myliptrembles,butItake
adeepcleansingbreathandbringmyrollingemotionsundercontrol.
“Comeon.Let’sgokickassatwork.”
Idon’tsaygoodbyetoChristian.He’sstillintheshowerwhenSawyerandI
leave.AsIgazeoutofthedarkenedwindowsoftheSUV,mycomposure
slipsandmyeyeswater.Mymoodisreflectedinthegray,drearysky,andI
feelastrangesenseofforeboding.Wedidn’tactuallydiscussthebaby.Ihave
hadlessthantwenty-fourhourstoassimilatethenewsofLittleBlip—
Christianhashadevenlesstime.“Hedoesn’tevenknowyourname.”Icaress
mybellyandwipetearsfrommyface.
“Mrs.Grey.”Sawyerinterruptsmyreverie.“We’rehere.”
“Oh.Thanks,Sawyer.”
“I’mgoingtomakearuntothedeli,ma’am.CanIgetyouanything?”
“No.Thankyou,no.I’mnothungry.”
Hannahhasmylattewaitingforme.Itakeonesniffofitandmystomach
roils.
“Um—canIhavetea,please?”Imutter,embarrassed.Iknewthere406|Pag
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wasareasonIneverreallylikedcoffee.Jeez,itsmellsfoul.
“Youokay,Ana?”
Inodandscurryintothesafetyofmyoffice.MyBlackBerrybuzzes.It’s
Kate.
“WhywasChristianlookingforyou?”sheaskswithnopreambleatall.
“Goodmorning,Kate.Howareyou?”
“Cutthecrap,Steele.Whatgives?”TheKatherineKavanaghInquisition
begins.
“ChristianandIhadafight,that’sall.”
“Didhehurtyou?”
Irollmyeyes.“Yes,butnotthewayyou’rethinking.”IcannotdealwithKate
atthemoment.IknowIwillcry—andrightnowIamsoproudofmyselffor
notbreakingdownthismorning.“Kate,Ihaveameeting.I’llcallyouback.”
“Good.You’reallright?”
“Yes.”No.“I’llcallyoulater,okay?”
“Okay,Ana,haveityourownway.I’mhereforyou.”
Ohno...“Iknow,”Iwhisperandfightthebacklashofemotionatherkind
words.Iamnotgoingtocry.Iamnotgoingtocry.
“Rayokay?”
“Yes,”Iwhispertheword.
“Oh,Ana,”shewhispers.
“Don’t.”
“Okay.Talklater.”
“Yes.”
Duringthecourseofthemorning,Isporadicallycheckmye-mails,hopingfor
wordfromChristian.Butthere’snothing.Asthedaywearson,Irealizehe’s
notgoingtocontactmeatall,andthathe’sstillmad.Well,I’mstillmad,too.
Ithrowmyselfintomywork,pausingonlyatlunchtimeforacreamcheese
andsalmonbagel.It’sextraordinaryhowmuchbetterIfeelonceI’veeaten
something.
Atfiveo’clockSawyerandIsetoffforthehospitaltoseeRay.Sawyeris
extravigilant,andevenoversolicitous.It’sirritating.AsweapproachRay’s
room,hehoversoverme.
407|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“ShallIgetyousometeawhileyouvisitwithyourfather?”heasks.
“Nothanks,Sawyer.I’llbefine.”
“I’llwaitoutside.”Heopensthedoorforme,andI’mgratefultogetaway
fromhimforamoment.Rayissittingupinbedreadingamagazine.He’s
shaved,wearingapajamatop—helookslikehisoldself.
“Hey,Annie.”Hegrins.Andhisfacefalls.
“Oh,Daddy…”Irushtohisside,andinaveryuncharacteristicmove,he
openshisarmswideandhugsme.
“Annie?”hewhispers.“Whatisit?”Heholdsmetightandkissesmyhair.As
I’minhisarms,Irealizehowrarethesemomentsbetweenushavebeen.Why
isthat?IsthatwhyIliketocrawlintoChristian’slap?Afteramoment,Ipull
awayfromhimandsitdowninthechairbesidethebed.Ray’sbrowis
furrowedwithconcern.
“Tellyouroldman.”
Ishakemyhead.Hedoesn’tneedmyproblemsrightnow.
“It’snothing,Dad.Youlookwell.”Ireachoverandclasphishand.
“Feelingmorelikemyself,thoughthisleginacastisbitchin’.”
“Bitchin’?”Hiswordpromptsmysmile.
Hesmilesback.“Bitchin’soundsbetterthanitchin’.”
“Oh,Dad,Iamsogladyou’reokay.”
“Me,too,Annie.I’dliketobouncesomegrandchildrenonthisbitchin’knee
oneday.Wouldn’twanttomissthatfortheworld.”
Iblinkathim.Shit.Doesheknow?AndIfightthetearsthatprickthecorners
ofmyeyes.
“YouandChristiangettingalong?”
“Wehadafight,”Iwhisper,tryingtospeakpasttheknotinmythroat.“We’ll
workitout.”
Henods.“He’safineman,yourhusband,”Raysaysreassuringly.
“Hehashismoments.Whatdidthedoctorssay?”Idon’twanttotalkabout
myhusbandrightnow;he’sapainfultopicofconversation.
BackatEscala,Christianisnothome.
“Christiancalledandsaidthathe’dbeworkinglate,”Mrs.Jonesinformsme
apologetically.
“Oh.Thanksforlettingmeknow.”Whycouldn’thetellme?Jeez,408|Pag
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hereallyistakinghissulktoawholenewlevel.Iambrieflyremindedofthe
fightoverourweddingvowsandthemajortantrumhehadthen.ButI’mthe
aggrievedonehere.
“Whatwouldyouliketoeat?”Mrs.Joneshasadetermined,steelyglintinher
eye.
“Pasta.”
Shesmiles.“Spaghetti,penne,fusilli?”
“Spaghetti,yourBolognese.”
“Comingup.AndAna…youshouldknowMr.Greywasfranticthismorning
whenhethoughtyou’dleft.Hewasbesidehimself.”Shesmilesfondly.
Oh…
He’sstillnothomebynine.Iamsittingatmydeskinthelibrary,wondering
whereheis.Icallhim.
“Ana,”hesays,hisvoicecool.
“Hi.”
Heinhalessoftly.“Hi,”hesays,hisvoicelower.
“Areyoucominghome?”
“Later.”
“Areyouintheoffice?”
“Yes.Wheredidyouexpectmetobe?”
Withher.“I’llletyougo.”
Webothhangontheline,thesilencestretchingandtighteningbetweenus.
“Goodnight,Ana,”hesayseventually.
“Goodnight,Christian.”
Hehangsup.
Ohshit.IgazeatmyBlackBerry.Idon’tknowwhatheexpectsmetodo.I’m
notgoingtolethimwalkalloverme.Yes,he’smad,fairenough.I’mmad.
Butwearewhereweare.Ihaven’trunofflooselippedtomyex-paedolover.
Iwanthimtoacknowledgethatthatisnotanacceptablewaytobehave.
Isitbackinmychair,gazingatthebilliardtableinthelibrary,andrecallfun
timesplayingsnooker.Iplacemyhandonmybelly.Maybeit’sjusttooearly.
Maybethisisnotmeanttobe…AndevenasIthink409|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
that,mysubconsciousisscreamingno!IfIterminatethispregnancy,Iwill
neverforgivemyself—orChristian.“Oh,Blip,whathaveyoudonetous?”I
can’tfacetalkingtoKate.Ican’tfacetalkingtoanyone.Itexther,promising
tocallsoon.
Byeleven,Icannolongerkeepmyeyelidsopen.Resigned,Iheaduptomy
oldroom.Curlingupbeneaththeduvet,Ifinallyletmyselfgo,sobbinginto
mypillow,greatheavingunladylikesobsofgrief…
MyheadisheavywhenIwake.Crispfalllightshinesthroughthegreat
windowsofmyroom.GlancingatmyalarmIseeit’sseventhirty.My
immediatethoughtiswhere’sChristian?Isitupandswingmylegsoutof
bed.OnthefloorbesidethebedisChristian’ssilver-graytie,myfavorite.It
wasn’ttherewhenIwenttobedlastnight.Ipickitupandstareatit,
caressingthesilkymaterialbetweenmythumbsandforefingers,thenhugit
againstmycheek.Hewashere,watchingmesleep.Andaglimmerofhope
sparksdeepinsideme.
Mrs.JonesisbusyinthekitchenwhenIarrivedownstairs.
“Goodmorning,”shesaysbrightly.
“Morning.Christian?”Iask.
Herfacefalls.“He’salreadyleft.”
“Sohedidcomehome?”Ineedtocheck,eventhoughIhavehistieas
evidence.
“Hedid,”shepauses,“Ana,pleaseforgivemeforspeakingoutofturn,but
don’tgiveuponhim.He’sastubbornman.”
Inod,andshestops.I’msuremyexpressiontellsherIdonotwanttodiscuss
myerranthusbandrightnow.
WhenIarriveatwork,Icheckmye-mails.Myheartleapsintooverdrive
whenIseethere’sonefromChristian.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:Portland
410|Page
ELJAMES
Date:September15,201106:45
To:AnastasiaGrey
Ana,
IamflyingdowntoPortlandtoday.
IhavesomebusinesstoconcludewithWSU.
Ithoughtyouwouldwanttoknow.
ChristianGrey
CEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Oh.Tearsprickmyeyes.That’sit?Mystomachflips.Shit!Iamgoingtobe
sick.Iracetothepowderroomandmakeitjustintime,depositingmy
breakfastintothetoilet.Isinktothefloorofthecubicleandputmyheadin
myhands.CouldIbeanymoremiserable?Afterawhile,there’sagentle
knockonthedoor.
“Ana?”It’sHannah.
Fuck.“Yes?”
“Areyouokay?”
“I’llbeoutinamoment.”
“BoyceFoxisheretoseeyou.”
Shit.“Showhimintothemeetingroom.I’llbethereinaminute.”
“Doyouwantsometea?”
“Please.”
Aftermylunch—anothercreamcheeseandsalmonbagel,whichImanageto
keepdown—Isitstaringlistlesslyatmycomputer,lookingforinspirationand
wonderinghowChristianandIaregoingtoresolvethishugeproblem.
MyBlackBerrybuzzes,makingmejump.Iglanceatthescreen—
it’sMia.Jeez,that’sallIneed,hergushingandenthusiasm.Ihesitate,
wonderingifIcouldjustignoreit,butcourtesywinsout.
“Mia,”Ianswerbrightly.
“Well,hellothere,Ana—longtimenospeak.”Themalevoiceisfamiliar,and
myworldstopsspinning.
411|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Fuck!Myscalppricklesandallthehaironmybodystandstoattentionas
adrenalinefloodsthroughmysystem.
It’sJackHyde.
412|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterTwenty-two
“Jack.”Myvoicehasdisappeared,chokedbyfear.Whatdoeshewant?
Howisheoutofjail?WhydoeshehaveMia’sphone?Theblooddrainsfrom
myface,andIfeeldizzy.
“Youdorememberme,”hesays,histonesoft.Isensehisbittersmile.
“Yes.Ofcourse.”Myanswerisautomaticasmymindraces.
“You’reprobablywonderingwhyIcalledyou.”
“Yes.”
Hangup.
“Don’thangup.I’vebeenhavingachatwithyourlittlesister-inlaw.”
What?Mia!No!“Whathaveyoudone?”Iwhisper,tryingtoquellmyfear.
“Listenhere,youprick-teasing,gold-diggingwhore.Youfuckedupmylife.
Greyfuckedupmylife.Youoweme.Ihavethelittlebitchwithmenow.And
you,thatcock-suckeryoumarried,andhiswholefuckingfamilyaregoingto
pay.”
Hyde’scontemptandbileshockme.Hisfamily?Whatthehell?
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Iwanthismoney.Ireallywanthisfuckingmoney.Ifthingshadbeen
different,itcouldhavebeenme.Soyou’regoingtogetitforme.Iwantfive
milliondollars,today.”
“Jack,Idon’thaveaccesstothatkindofmoney.”
Hesnortshisderision.“Youhavetwohourstogetit.That’sit—twohours.
Tellnooneorthislittlebitchgetsit.Notthecops.Notyourprickofa
husband.Nothissecurityteam.Iwillknowifyoudo.Understand?”He
pausesandItrytorespond,butmypanicandfearsealmythroat.
“Youunderstand!”heshouts.
“Yes,”Iwhisper.
“OrIwillkillher.”
413|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Igasp.
“Keepyourphonewithyou.TellnooneorI’llfuckherupbeforeIkillher.
Youhavetwohours.”
“Jack,Ineedlonger.Threehours.HowdoIknowthatyouhaveher?”
Thelinegoesdead.Igapeinhorroratthephonemymouthparchedwithfear,
leavingthenastymetallictasteofterror.Mia,hehasMia.Ordoeshe?My
mindwhirrsattheobscenepossibility,andmystomachroilsagain.Ithink
I’mgoingtobesick,butIinhaledeeply,tryingtosteadymypanic,andthe
nauseapasses.Mymindrocketsthroughthepossibilities.TellChristian?Tell
Taylor?Callthepolice?HowwillJackknow?DoesheactuallyhaveMia?I
needtime,timetothink—butIcanonlyaccomplishthatbyfollowinghis
instructions.Igrabmypurseandheadforthedoor.
“Hannah,Ihavetogoout.IamnotsurehowlongI’llbe.Cancelmy
appointmentsthisafternoon.LetElizabethknowIhavetodealwithan
emergency.”
“Sure,Ana.Everythingokay?”Hannahfrowns,concernetchedonherfaceas
shewatchesmeflee.
“Yes,”Icallbackdistractedly,hurryingtowardreceptionwhereSawyeris
waiting.
“Sawyer.”Heleapsupfromthearmchairatthesoundofmyvoice,and
frownswhenheseesmyface.
“I’mnotfeelingwell.Pleasetakemehome.”
“Sure,ma’am.DoyouwanttowaitherewhileIgetthecar?”
“No,I’llcomewithyou.I’minahurrytogethome.”
Igazeoutthewindowinstarkterror,runningthroughmyplan.Gethome.
Change.Findcheckbook.EscapefromRyanandSawyersomehow.Goto
bank.Hell,howmuchroomdoesfivemilliondollarstakeup?Whatwillit
weigh?WillIneedasuitcase?ShouldItelephonethebankinadvance?Mia.
Mia.Whatifhedoesn’thaveMia?HowcanIcheck?IfIcallGraceitwill
raisehersuspicions,andpossiblyendangerMia.Hesaidhewouldknow.I
glanceoutthebackoftheSUV.AmIbeingfollowed?MyheartracesasI
examinethecarsfollowingus.Theylookinnocuousenough.Oh,Sawyer,
drivefaster.414|Page
ELJAMES
Please.Myeyesflickertomeethisintherearviewmirrorandhisbrow
creases.
SawyerpressesabuttononhisBluetoothheadsettoansweracall.
“T…IwantedtoletyouknowMrs.Greyiswithme.”Sawyer’seyesmeet
mineoncemorebeforehelooksbackattheroadandcontinues.
“She’sunwell.I’mtakingherbacktoEscala…Isee…sir.”
Sawyer’seyesflickfromtheroadtomineintherearviewmirroragain.
“Yes,”heagrees,andhangsup.
“Taylor?”Iwhisper.
Henods.
“He’swithMr.Grey?”
“Yes,ma’am.”Sawyer’slooksoftensinsympathy.
“AretheystillinPortland?”
“Yes,ma’am.”
Good.IhavetokeepChristiansafe.Myhandstraysdowntomybelly,andI
rubitconsciously.Andyou,LittleBlip.Keepyoubothsafe.
“Canwehurryplease?I’mnotfeelingwell.”
“Yes,ma’am.”Sawyerpressestheacceleratorandourcarglidesthroughthe
traffic.
Mrs.JonesisnowheretobeseenwhenSawyerandIarriveattheapartment.
Sincehercarismissingfromthegarage,Iassumeshe’srunningerrandswith
Ryan.SawyerheadsforTaylor’sofficewhileIbolttoChristian’sstudy.
Scuttlinginpanicaroundhisdesk,Iwrenchopenthedrawertofindthe
checkbooks.Leila’sgunslidesforwardintoview.Ifeelanincongruous
twingeofannoyancethatChristianhasnotsecuredthisweapon.Heknows
nothingaboutguns—jeez,hecouldgethurt.
Afteramoment’shesitation,Igrabthepistol,checktoensureit’sloaded,and
tuckitintothewaistbandofmyblackslacks.Imayneedit.Iswallowhard.
I’veonlyeverpracticedontargets.I’veneverfiredagunatanyone;Ihope
Raywillforgiveme.Iturnmyattentiontotrackingdowntheright
checkbook.Therearefive,andonlyoneisinthenamesofC.GreyandMrs.
A.Grey.Ihaveaboutfifty-fourthousanddollarsinmyownaccount.Ihave
noideahowmuchmoney415|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
isinthisone.ButChristianmustbegoodforfivemilliondollars,surely.
Perhapsthere’smoneyinthesafe?Crap.Ihavenoideaofthenumber.Didn’t
hementionthecombinationwasithisfilingcabinet?Itrythecabinet,butit’s
locked.Shit.I’llhavetosticktoplanA.Itakeadeepbreathand,inamore
composedbutdeterminedmanner,stridetoourbedroom.Thebedhasbeen
made,andforamoment,Ifeelapang.PerhapsIshouldhavesleptherelast
night.Whatisthepointofarguingwithsomeonewho,bytheirown
admission,isfiftyshades?He’snoteventalkingtomenow.No—Idonot
havetimetothinkaboutthis.
Quickly,Ichangeoutofmyslacks,pullingonjeans,ahoodedsweatshirt,and
apairofsneakersandputtheguninthewaistbandofmyjeans,atmyback.
FromtheclosetIfishoutalargesoftdufflebag.Willfivemilliondollarsfit
intothis?Christian’sgymbagislyingthereonthefloor.Iopenit,expecting
tofinditfullofdirtylaundry,butno—
hisgymkitiscleanandfresh.Mrs.Jonesdoesindeedgeteverywhere.Idump
thecontentsontothefloorandstuffhisgymbagintomyduffle.There,that
shoulddoit.IcheckthatIhavemydriver’slicenseasidentificationforthe
bankandcheckthetime.It’sbeenthirty-oneminutessinceJackcalled.NowI
justhavetogetoutofEscalawithoutSawyerseeingme.
Imakemywayslowlyandquietlytothefoyer,awareoftheCCTV
camerawhichistrainedontheelevator.IthinkSawyer’sstillinTaylor’s
office.Cautiously,Iopenthefoyerdoor,makingaslittlenoiseaspossible.
Shuttingitquietlybehindme,Istandontheverythreshold,upagainstthe
door,outoftheviewoftheCCTVlens.Ifishmycellphoneoutofmypurse
andcallSawyer.
“Mrs.Grey.”
“Sawyer,I’mintheroomupstairs,willyougivemeahandwithsomething?”
Ikeepmyvoicelow,knowinghe’sjustdownthehallwayontheothersideof
thisdoor.
“I’llberightwithyou,ma’am,”hesays,andIhearhisconfusion.I’venever
telephonedhimforhelpbefore.Myheartisinmythroat,poundingina
jarring,freneticrhythm.Willthiswork?Ihangupandlistenashisfootsteps
crossthehallwayandgoupthestairs.Itakeanotherdeepsteadyingbreath
andbrieflycontemplatetheironyofescapingfrommyownhomelikeafelon.
416|Page
ELJAMES
OnceSawyer’sreachedtheupstairslanding,Iracetotheelevatorandpunch
thecallbutton.Thedoorsslideopenwiththetoo-loudpingthatannounces
theelevatorisready.Idashinsideandfranticallystabthebuttonforthe
basementgarage.Afteranagonizingpause,thedoorsslowlystarttoslide
shut,andastheydoIhearSawyer’scries.
“Mrs.Grey!”Justastheelevatordoorsclose,Iseehimskidintothefoyer.
“Ana!”heshoutsindisbelief.Buthe’stoolate,andhedisappearsfromview.
Theelevatorsinkssmoothlydowntothegaragelevel.Ihaveacoupleof
minutes’startonSawyer,andIknowhe’lltrytostopme.Iglancelongingly
atmyR8asIrushtotheSaab,openthedoor,tosstheduffelbagontothe
passengerseat,andslideintothedriver’sseat.IstarttheSaab,andthetires
squealasIracetotheentranceandwaitelevenagonizingsecondsforthe
barriertolift.Theinstantit’sclearIdriveout,catchingsightofSawyerinmy
rearviewmirrorashedashesoutofserviceelevatorintothegarage.His
bewildered,injuredexpressionhauntsmeasIturnofftherampontoFourth
Avenue.Iletoutmylongheldbreath.IknowSawyerwillcallChristianor
Taylor,butI’lldealwiththatwhenIhaveto—Idon’thavetimetodwellonit
now.Isquirmuncomfortablyinmyseat,knowinginmyheartofheartsthat
Sawyer’sprobablylosthisjob.Don’tdwell.IhavetosaveMia.Ihavetoget
tothebankandcollectfivemilliondollars.Iglanceintherearviewmirror,
nervouslyanticipatingthesightoftheSUVburstingforthfromthegarage,
butasIdriveaway,there’snosignofSawyer.
Thebankissleek,modern,andunderstated.Therearehushedtones,echoing
floors,andpalegreenetchedglasseverywhere.Istridetotheinformation
desk.
“CanIhelpyou,ma’am?”Theyoungwomangivesmeabright,insincere
smile,andforamomentIregretchangingintojeans.
“I’dliketowithdrawalargesumofmoney.”
Ms.InsincereSmilearchesanevenmoreinsincereeyebrow.
“Youhaveanaccountwithus?”Shefailstohidehersarcasm.
“Yes,”Isnap.“MyhusbandandIhaveseveralaccountshere.Hisnameis
ChristianGrey.”
417|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Hereyeswidenfractionallyandinsinceritygiveswaytoshock.Hereyes
sweepupanddownmeoncemore,thistimewithacombinationofdisbelief
andawe.
“Thisway,ma’am,”shewhispers,andleadsmetoasmall,sparselyfurnished
officewalledwithmoregreen-etchedglass.
“Pleasetakeaseat.”Shegesturestoablackleatherchairbyaglassdesk
bearingastate-of-the-artcomputerandphone.“Howmuchwillyoube
withdrawingtoday,Mrs.Grey?”sheaskspleasantly.
“Fivemilliondollars.”IlookherstraightintheeyeasifIaskforthisamount
ofcasheveryday.
Sheblanches.“Isee.I’llfetchthemanager.Oh,forgivemeforasking,butdo
youhaveID?”
“Ido.ButI’dliketospeaktothemanager.”
“Ofcourse,Mrs.Grey.”Shescurriesout.Isinkintotheseat,andawaveof
nauseawashesovermeasthegunpressesuncomfortablyintothesmallofmy
back.Notnow.Ican’tbesicknow.Itakeadeepcleansingbreath,andthe
wavepasses.Nervously,Icheckmywatch.Twenty-fivepasttwo.
Amiddle-agedmanenterstheroom.Hehasarecedinghairline,butwearsa
sharp,expensivecharcoalsuitandmatchingtie.Heholdsouthishand.
“Mrs.Grey.I’mTroyWhelan.”Hesmiles,weshake,andhesitsdownatthe
deskoppositeme.
“Mycolleaguetellsmeyou’dliketowithdrawalargeamountofmoney.”
“That’scorrect.Fivemilliondollars.”
Heturnstohissleekcomputerandtapsinafewnumbers.
“Wenormallyaskforsomenoticeforlargeamountsofmoney.”Hepauses,
andflashesmeareassuringbutsupercilioussmile.
“Fortunately,however,weholdthecashreservefortheentirePacific
Northwest,”heboasts.Jeez,ishetryingtoimpressme?
“Mr.Whelan,I’minahurry.WhatdoIneedtodo?Ihavemydriver’s
license,andourjointaccountcheckbook.DoIjustwriteacheck?”
“Firstthingsfirst,Mrs.Grey.MayIseetheID?”Heswitchesfromjovial
show-offtoseriousbanker.
“Here.”Ihandovermylicense.
418|Page
ELJAMES
“Mrs.Grey…thissaysAnastasiaSteele.”
Ohshit.
“Oh…yes.Um.”
“I’llcallMr.Grey.”
“Ohno,thatwon’tbenecessary.”Shit!“Imusthavesomethingwithmy
marriedname.”Iriflethroughmypurse.WhatdoIhavewithmynameonit?
Ipulloutmywallet,openitandfindaphotographofChristianandme,onthe
bedinFairLady’scabin.Ican’tshowhimthat!IdigoutmyblackAmex.
“Here.”
“Mrs.AnastasiaGrey,”Whelanreads.“Yes,thatshoulddo.”Hefrowns.
“Thisishighlyirregular,Mrs.Grey.
“Doyouwantmetoletmyhusbandknowthatyourbankhasbeenlessthan
cooperative?”Isquaremyshouldersandgivehimmymostforbiddingstare.
Hepauses,momentarilyreassessingme,Ithink.“You’llneedtowritea
check,Mrs.Grey.”
“Sure.Thisaccount?”Ishowhimmycheckbook,tryingtoquellmy
poundingheart
“That’llbefine.I’llalsoneedyoutocompletesomeadditionalpaperwork.If
you’llexcusemeforamoment?”
Inod,andherisesandstalksoutoftheoffice.Again,Ireleasemyheld
breath.Ihadnoideathiswouldbesodifficult.Clumsily,Iopenmy
checkbookandpullapenoutofmypurse.DoIjustmakeitouttocash?I
havenoidea.WithshakingfingersIwrite:Fivemilliondollars.
$5,000,000.
OhGod,IhopeI’mdoingtherightthing.Mia,thinkofMia.Ican’ttell
anyone.
Jack’schilling,repugnantwordshauntme.“TellnooneorI’llfuckherup
beforeIkillher.”
Mr.Whelanreturns,pale-facedandsheepish.
“Mrs.Grey?Yourhusbandwantstospeakwithyou,”hemurmursandpoints
tothephoneontheglasstablebetweenus.What?No.
“He’sonlineone.Justpressthebutton.I’llbeoutside.”Hehasthegraceto
lookembarrassed.BenedictArnoldhasnothingonWhelan.Iscowlathim,
feelingtheblooddrainfrommyfaceagainasheshuffles419|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
outoftheoffice.
Shit!Shit!Shit!WhatamIgoingtosaytoChristian?He’llknow.He’ll
intervene.He’sadangertohissister.MyhandtremblesasIreachforthe
phone.Iholditagainstmyear,tryingtocalmmyerraticbreathing,andpress
thebuttonforlineone.
“Hi,”Imurmur,tryinginvaintosteadymynerves.
“You’releavingme?”Christian’swordsareanagonized,breathlesswhisper.
What?
“No!”Myvoicemirrorshis.Ohno.Ohno.Ohno—howcanhethinkthat?
Themoney?HethinksI’mgoingbecauseofthemoney?
Andinmomentofhorrificclarity,IrealizetheonlywayI’mgoingtokeep
Christianatarm’slength,outofharm’sway,andtosavehissister…istolie.
“Yes,”Iwhisper.Andsearingpainlancesthroughme,tearsspringingtomy
eyes.
Hegasps,almostasob.“Ana,I—”Hechokes.
No!MyhandclutchesmymouthasIstiflemywarringemotions.
“Christian,please.Don’t.”Ifightbacktears.
“You’regoing?”hesays.
“Yes.”
“Butwhythecash?Wasitalwaysthemoney?”Historturedvoiceisbarely
audible.
No!Tearsrolldownmyface.“No,”Iwhisper.
“Isfivemillionenough?”
Ohplease,stop!
“Yes.”
“Andthebaby?”Hisvoiceisabreathlessecho.
What?Myhandmovesfrommymouthtomybelly.“I’lltakecareofthe
baby,”Imurmur.MyLittleBlip…ourLittleBlip.
“Thisiswhatyouwant?”
No!
“Yes.”
Heinhalessharply.“Takeitall,”hehisses.
“Christian,”Isob.“It’sforyou.Foryourfamily.Please.Don’t.”
“Takeitall,Anastasia.”
“Christian—”AndInearlycave.Nearlytellhim—aboutJack,about420|Pa
ge
ELJAMES
Mia,abouttheransom.Justtrustme,please!Isilentlybeghim.
“I’llalwaysloveyou.”Hisvoiceishoarse.Hehangsup.
“Christian!No…Iloveyou,too.”Andallthestupidshitthatweputeach
otherthroughoverthelastfewdaysfadesintoinsignificance.IpromisedI’d
neverleavehim.Iamnotleavingyou.Iamsavingyoursister.Islumpinto
thechair,weepingcopiouslyintomyhands.Iaminterruptedbyatimidknock
onthedoor.Whelanenters,thoughIhaven’tacknowledgedhim.Helooks
everywherebutatme.He’smortified.
Youcalledhim,youbastard!Iglareathim.
“Youhavecarteblanche,Mrs.Grey,”hesays.“Mr.Greyhasagreedto
liquefysomeofhisassets.Hesaysyoucanhavewhateveryouneed.”
“Ijustneedfivemilliondollars,”Imutterthroughgrittedteeth.
“Yesma’am.Areyouallright?”
“DoIlookallright?”Isnap.
“I’msorry,ma’am.Somewater?”
Inod,sullenly.Ihavejustleftmyhusband.Well,ChristianthinksIhave.My
subconsciouspursesherlips.Becauseyoutoldhimso.ButIdon’twantto
leavehim.Ilovehim.
“I’llhavemycolleaguebringyousomewhileIpreparethemoney.Ifyou
couldjustsignhere,ma’am…andmakethecheckouttocashandsignthat,
too.”
Heplacesaformonthetable.Iscrawlmysignaturealongthedottedlineof
thecheck,thentheform.AnastasiaGrey.Teardropsfallonthedesk,narrowly
missingthepaperwork.
“I’lltakethose,ma’am.Itwilltakeusabouthalfanhourtopreparethe
money.”
Iquicklycheckmywatch.Jacksaidtwohours—thatshouldtakeustotwo
hours.InodtoWhelan,andhetiptoesoutoftheoffice,leavingmetomy
misery.
Afewmoments,minutes,hourslater—Idon’tknow—MissInsincereSmile
reenterswithacarafeofwaterandaglass.
“Mrs.Grey,”shesayssoftlyassheplacestheglassonthedeskandfillsit.
“Thankyou.”Itaketheglassanddrinkgratefully.Sheexits,leavingmewith
myjumbled,frightenedthoughts.Iwillfixthingswith421|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christiansomehow…ifit’snottoolate.Atleasthe’soutofthepicture.Right
nowIhavetoconcentrateonMia.SupposeJackislying?
Supposehedoesn’thaveher?SurelyIshouldcallthepolice.
“TellnooneorI’llfuckherupbeforeIkillher.”Ican’t.Isitbackinthe
chair,feelingthereassuringpresenceofLeila’spistolatmywaist,digging
intomyback.WhowouldhavethoughtI’deverfeelgratefulthatLeilaonce
pulledagunonme?Oh,Ray,I’msogladyoutaughtmehowtoshoot.
Ray!Igasp.He’llbeexpectingmetovisitthisevening.PerhapsIcansimply
dumpthemoneywithJack.HecanrunwhileItakeMiahome.Oh,this
soundsabsurd!
MyBlackBerryjumpstolife,“YourLoveisKing”fillingtheroom.Ohno!
WhatdoesChristianwant?Totwisttheknifeinmywounds?
“Wasitalwaysthemoney?”
Oh,Christian—howcouldyouthinkthat?Angerflaresinmygut.Yes,anger.
Ithelps.Isendthecalltovoicemail.I’lldealwithmyhusbandlater.
There’saknockonthedoor.
“Mrs.Grey.”It’sWhelan.“Themoneyisready.”
“Thankyou.”Istandupandtheroomspinsmomentarily.Iclutchthechair.
“Mrs.Grey,areyoufeelingokay?”
Inodandgivehimaback-off-now-misterstare.Itakeanotherdeepcalming
breath.Ihavetodothis.Ihavetodothis.ImustsaveMia.Ipullthehemof
myhoodedsweatshirtdown,concealingthebuttofthepistolinthebackof
myjeans.
Mr.Whelanfrownsbutholdsopenthedoor,andIpropelmyselfforwardon
myshakinglimbs.
Sawyeriswaitingattheentrance,scanningthepublicarea.Shit!
Oureyesmeet,andhefrownsatme,gaugingmyreaction.Oh,he’smad.I
holdupmyindexfingerinawith-you-in-a-minutegesture.Henodsand
answersacallonhiscellphone.Shit!Ibetthat’sChristian.Iturnabruptly,
almostcollidingwithWhelanrightbehindme,andboltbackintothelittle
office.
“Mrs.Grey?”Whelansoundsconfusedashefollowsmebackin.Sawyer
couldblowthiswholeplan.IgazeupatWhelan.
“There’ssomeoneoutthereIdon’twanttosee.Someonefollowing422|Pa
ge
ELJAMES
me.”
Whelan’seyeswiden.
“Doyouwantmetocallthepolice?”
“No!”Holyfuck,no.WhatamIgoingtodo?Iglanceatmywatch.It’snearly
threefifteen.Jackwillcallanymoment.Think,Ana,think!
Whelangazesatmeingrowingdesperationandbewilderment.Hemustthink
I’mcrazy.Youarecrazy,mysubconscioussnaps.
“Ineedtomakeacall.Couldyougivemesomeprivacy,please?”
“Certainly,”Whelananswers—grateful,Ithink,toleavetheroom.Whenhe’s
closedthedoor,IcallMia’scellphonewithtremblingfingers.
“Well,ifitisn’tmypaycheck,”Jackanswersscornfully.Idon’thavetimefor
hisbullshit.“Ihaveaproblem.”
“Iknow.Yoursecurityfollowedyoutothebank.”
What?Howthehelldoesheknow?
“You’llhavetolosehim.Ihaveacarwaitingatthebackofthebank.Black
SUV,aDodge.Youhavethreeminutestogetthere.”TheDodge!
“Itmaytakelongerthanthreeminutes.”Myheartleapsintomythroatonce
more.
“You’rebrightforagold-diggingwhore,Grey.Youfigureitout.Anddump
yourcellphoneonceyoureachthevehicle.Gotit,bitch?”
“Yes.”
“Sayit!”hesnaps.
“I’vegotit.”
Hehangsup.
Shit!IopenthedoortofindWhelanwaitingpatientlyoutside.
“Mr.Whelan,I’llneedsomehelptakingthebagstomycar.It’sparked
outside,atthebackofthebank.Doyouhaveanexitattherear?”
Hefrowns.
“Wedo,yes.Forstaff.”
“Canweleavethatway?Icanavoidtheunwelcomeattentionatthedoor.”
“Asyouwish,Mrs.Grey.I’llhavetwoclerkshelpwiththebagsandtwo
securityguardstosupervise.Ifyoucouldfollowme?”
“Ihaveonemorefavortoaskyou.”
423|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Byallmeans,Mrs.Grey.”
TwominuteslatermyentourageandIareoutonthestreet,headingoverto
theDodge.Itswindowsareblackedout,andIcan’ttellwho’satthewheel.
Butasweapproach,thedriver’sdoorswingsopen,andawomancladin
blackwithablackcappulledlowoverherfaceclimbsgracefullyoutofthe
car.Elizabeth!ShemovestotherearoftheSUV
andopensthetrunk.Thetwoyoungbankclerkscarryingthemoneyslingthe
heavybagsintotheback.
“Mrs.Grey.”Shehasthenervetosmileasifweareoffonafriendlyjaunt.
“Elizabeth.”Mygreetingisarctic.“Nicetoseeyououtsidework.”
Mr.Whelanclearsthisthroat.
“Well,it’sbeenaninterestingafternoon,Mrs.Grey,”hesays.AndIam
forcedtoobservethesocialnicetiesofshakinghishandandthankinghim
whilemymindreels.Elizabeth?Whatthehell?Whyisshemixedupwith
Jack?Whelanandhisteamdisappearbackintothebank,leavingmealone
withtheheadofpersonnelatSIPwho’sinvolvedinkidnapping,extortion,
andverypossiblyotherfelonies.Why?
Elizabethopenstherearpassengerdoorandushersmein.
“Yourphone,Mrs.Grey?”sheasks,watchingmewarily.Ihandittoher,and
shetossesitintoanearbytrashcan.
“Thatwillthrowthedogsoffthescent,”shesayssmugly.Whoisthis
woman?Elizabethslamsmydoorshutandclimbsintothedriver’sseat.I
glanceanxiouslybehindmeasshepullsoutintothetraffic,goingeast.
Sawyerisnowheretobeseen.
“Elizabeth,youhavethemoney.CallJack.TellhimtoletMiago.”
“Ithinkhewantstothankyouinperson.”
Shit!Iglareatherstonilyintherearviewmirror.Shepalesandananxious
scowlmarsherotherwiselovelyface.
“Whyareyoudoingthis,Elizabeth?Ithoughtyoudidn’tlikeJack.”
Sheglancesatmeagainbrieflyinthemirror,andIseeafleetinglookofpain
inhereyes.
“Ana,we’llgetalongjustfineifyoukeepyourmouthshut.”
“Butyoucan’tdothis.Thisissowrong.”
424|Page
ELJAMES
“Quiet,”shesays,butIsenseherunease.
“Doeshehavesomekindofholdonyou?”Iask.Hereyesshoottomineand
sheslamsonthebrakes,throwingmeforwardsohardIhitmyfaceagainst
theheadrestofthefrontseat.
“Isaidbequiet,”shesnarls.“AndIsuggestyouputonyourseatbelt.”
AndinthatmomentIknowthathedoes.Somethingsoawfulthatshe’s
preparedtodothisforhim.Iwonderbrieflywhatthatcouldbe.Theftfrom
thecompany?Somethingfromherprivatelife?Somethingsexual?Ishudder
atthethought.ChristiansaidthatnoneofJack’sPAswouldtalk.Perhapsit’s
thesamestorywithallofthem.That’swhyhewantedtofuckme,too.Bile
risesinmythroatwithrevulsionatthethought.
ElizabethheadsawayfromdowntownSeattleandupintothehillstotheeast.
Beforelongwe’redrivingthroughresidentialstreets.Icatchsightofoneof
thestreetsigns:SOUTHIRVINGSTREET.Sheturnssharpleftatajunction
intoadesertedstreetwithadilapidatedchildren’splaygroundononesideand
alargeconcreteparkinglotflankedbyarowofsquat,emptybrickbuildings
ontheother.Elizabethpullsintotheparkinglotandstopsoutsidethelastof
thebrickunits.Sheturnstome.“Showtime,”shemurmurs.Myscalpprickles
asfearandadrenalinecoursethroughmybody.
“Youdon’thavetodothis,”Iwhisperback.Hermouthflattensintoagrim
line,andsheclimbsoutofthecar.ThisisforMia.ThisisforMia.Iquickly
pray,Pleaseletherbeokay,pleaseletherbeokay.
“Getout,”Elizabethsnaps,yankingtherearpassengerdooropen.Shit.
AsIclamberout,mylegsareshakingsohardIwonderifIcanstand.The
coollate-afternoonbreezecarriesthescentofthecomingfallandthechalky,
dustysmellofderelictbuildings.
“Well,lookiehere.”Jackemergesfromasmall,boarded-updoorwayonthe
leftofthebuilding.Hishairisshort.He’sremovedhisearringsandhe’s
wearingasuit.Asuit?Heamblestowardme,oozingarroganceandhate.My
heartratespikes.
“Where’sMia?”Istammer,mymouthsodryIcanhardlyformthewords.
“Firstthingsfirst,bitch,”Jacksneers,comingtoahaltinfrontof425|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
me.Icanpracticallytastehiscontempt.“Themoney?”
Elizabethischeckingthebagsinthetrunk.
“There’sahellofalotofcashhere,”shesaysinawe,zippingandunzipping
eachbag.
“Andhercell?”
“Inthetrash.”
“Good,”Jacksnarls,andfromnowherehelashesout,backhandingmehard
acrosstheface.Theferocious,unprovokedblowknocksmetotheground,
andmyheadbounceswithasickeningthudofftheconcrete.Painexplodesin
myhead,myeyesfillwithtears,andmyvisionblursastheshockofthe
impactresonates,unleashingagonythatpulsesthroughmyskull.
Iscreamasilentcryofsufferingandshockedterror.Ohno—LittleBlip.Jack
followsthroughwithaswift,viciouskicktomyribs,andmybreathisblasted
frommylungsbytheforceoftheblow.Scrunchingmyeyestightly,Itryto
fightthenauseaandpain,tofightforapreciousbreath.LittleBlip,LittleBlip,
ohmyLittleBlip—
“That’sforSIP,youfuckingbitch!”Jackscreams.
Ipullmylegsup,huddlingintoaballandanticipatingthenextblow.No.No.
No.
“Jack!”Elizabethscreeches.“Nothere.Notinbroaddaylightforfuck’s
sake!”
Hepauses.
“Thebitchdeservesit!”hegloatstoElizabeth.Anditgivesmeoneprecious
secondtoreacharoundandpullthegunfromthewaistbandofmyjeans.
Shakily,Iaimathim,squeezethetrigger,andfire.Thebullethitshimjust
abovetheknee,andhecollapsesinfrontofme,cryingoutinagony,clutching
histhighashisfingersreddenwithhisblood.
“Fuck!”Jackbellows.IturntofaceElizabeth,andshe’sgapingatmein
horrorandraisingherhandsaboveherhead.Sheblurs…darknessclosesin.
Shit…She’sattheendofatunnel.Darknessconsumingher.Consumingme.
Fromfaraway,allhellbreaksloose.Carsscreeching…brakes…doors…
shouting…running…footsteps.Thegundropsfrommyhand.
“Ana!”Christian’svoice…Christian’svoice…Christian’sagonizedvoice.
Mia…saveMia.
“ANA!”
426|Page
ELJAMES
Darkness…peace.
427|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
ChapterTwenty-three
Thereisonlypain.Myhead,mychest…burningpain.Myside,myarm.
Pain.Painandhushedwordsinthegloom.WhereamI?ThoughItry,I
cannotopenmyeyes.Thewhisperedwordsbecomeclearer…abeaconin
thedarkness.
“Herribsarebruised,Mr.Grey,andshehasahairlinefracturetoherskull,
buthervitalsignsarestableandstrong.”
“Whyisshestillunconscious?”
“Mrs.Greyhashadamajorcontusiontoherhead.Butherbrainactivityis
normal,andshehasnocerebralswelling.She’llwakewhenshe’sready.Just
givehersometime.”
“Andthebaby?”Thewordsareanguished,breathless.
“Thebaby’sfine,Mr.Grey.”
“Oh,thankGod.”Thewordsarealitany…aprayer.“Oh,thankGod.”
Ohmy.He’sworriedaboutthebaby…thebaby?…LittleBlip.Ofcourse.
MyLittleBlip.Itryinvaintomovemyhandtomybelly.Nothingmoves,
nothingresponds.
“Andthebaby?…Oh,thankGod.”
LittleBlipissafe.
“Andthebaby?…Oh,thankGod.”
Hecaresaboutthebaby.
“Andthebaby?…Oh,thankGod.”
Hewantsthebaby.OhthankGod.Irelax,andunconsciousnessclaimsme
oncemore,stealingmeawayfromthepain.
Everythingisheavyandaching:limbs,head,eyelids,nothingwillmove.My
eyesandmouthareresolutelyshut,unwillingtomove,leavingmeblindand
muteandaching.AsIsurfacefromthefog,consciousnesshovers,aseductive
sirenjustoutofreach.Soundsbecomevoices.
428|Page
ELJAMES
“I’mnotleavingher.”
Christian!He’shere…Iwillmyselftowake—hisvoiceisstrained,an
agonizedwhisper.
“Christian,youshouldsleep.”
“No,Dad.Iwanttobeherewhenshewakesup.”
“I’llsitwithher.It’stheleastIcandoaftershesavedmydaughter.”
Mia!
“How’sMia?”
“She’sgroggy…scaredandangry.It’llbeafewhoursbeforetheRohypnol
iscompletelyoutofhersystem.”
“Christ.”
“Iknow.I’mfeelingsevenkindsoffoolishforrelentingonhersecurity.You
warnedme,butMiaissostubborn.Ifitwasn’tforAnahere…”
“WeallthoughtHydewasoutofthepicture.Andmycrazy,stupidwife—
Whydidn’tshetellme?”Christian’svoiceisfullofanguish.
“Christian,calmdown.Ana’saremarkableyoungwoman.Shewasincredibly
brave.”
“Braveandheadstrongandstubbornandstupid.”Hisvoicecracks.
“Hey,”Carrickmurmurs,“don’tbesohardonher,oryourself,son…I’d
bettergetbacktoyourmom.It’safterthreeinthemorning,Christian.You
reallyshouldtrytosleep.”
Thefogclosesin.
ThefogliftsbutIhavenosenseoftime.
“Ifyoudon’ttakeheracrossyourknee,Isureashellwill.Whatthehellwas
shethinking?”
“Trustme,Ray,Ijustmightdothat.”
Dad!He’shere.Ifightthefog…fight…ButIspiraldownoncemoreinto
oblivion.No…
“Detective,asyoucansee,mywifeisnostatetoansweranyofyour
questions.”Christianisangry.
“She’saheadstrongyoungwoman,Mr.Grey.”
“Iwishshe’dkilledthefucker.”
429|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Thatwouldhavemeantmorepaperworkforme,Mr.Grey…”
“MissMorganissingingliketheproverbialcanary.Hyde’sarealtwistedson
ofabitch.Hehasaseriousgrudgeagainstyourfatherandyou…”
Thefogsurroundsmeoncemore,andI’mdraggeddown…down.No!
“Whatdoyoumeanyouweren’ttalking?”It’sGrace.Shesoundsangry.Itry
tomovemyhead,butI’mmetwitharesounding,listlesssilencefrommy
body.
“Whatdidyoudo?”
“Mom—”
“Christian!Whatdidyoudo?”
“Iwassoangry.”It’salmostasob…No.
“Hey…”
TheworlddipsandblursandI’mgone.
Ihearsoftgarbledvoices.
“Youtoldmeyou’dcutallties.”Graceistalking.Hervoiceisquiet,
admonishing.
“Iknow.”Christiansoundsresigned.“Butseeingherfinallyputitallin
perspectiveforme.Youknow…withthechild.ForthefirsttimeIfelt…
Whatwedid…itwaswrong.”
“Whatshediddarling…Childrenwilldothattoyou.Makeyoulookatthe
worldinadifferentlight.”
“Shefinallygotthemessage…andsodidI…IhurtAna,”hewhispers.
“Wealwayshurttheoneswelove,darling.You’llhavetotellheryou’re
sorry.Andmeanitandgivehertime.”
“Shesaidshewasleavingme.”
No.No.No!
“Didyoubelieveher?”
“Atfirst,yes.”
“Darling,youalwaysbelievetheworstofeveryone,includingyourself.You
alwayshave.Analovesyouverymuch,andit’sobvious430|Page
ELJAMES
youloveher.”
“Shewasmadatme.”
“I’msureshewas.I’mprettymadatyourightnow.Ithinkyoucanonlybe
trulymadatsomeoneyoureallylove.”
“Ithoughtaboutit,andshe’sshownmeoverandoverhowmuchsheloves
me…tothepointofputtingherownlifeindanger.”
“Yes,shehas.Oh,Mom,whywon’tshewakeup?”Hisvoicecracks.“I
nearlylosther.”
Christian!Therearemuffledsobs.No…Oh…thedarknessclosesin.No—
“It’stakentwenty-fouryearsforyoutoletmeholdyoulikethis..”
“Iknow,Mom…I’mgladwetalked.”
“Metoo,darling.I’malwayshere.Ican’tbelieveI’mgoingtobea
grandmother.”
Grandma!
Sweetoblivionbeckons.
Hmm.Hisstubblesoftlyscrapesthebackofmyhandashesqueezesmy
fingers.
“Oh,baby,pleasecomebacktome.I’msorry.Sorryforeverything.Just
wakeup.Imissyou.Iloveyou…”
Itry.Itry.Iwanttoseehim.Butmybodydisobeysme,andIfallasleeponce
more.
Ihaveapressingneedtopee.Iopenmyeyes.I’mintheclean,sterile
environmentofahospitalroom.It’sdarkexceptforasidelight,andallis
quiet.Myheadandmychestaches,butmorethanthat,mybladderis
bursting.Ineedtopee.Itestmylimbs.Myrightarmsmarts,andInoticethe
IVattachedtoitontheinsideofmyelbow.Ishutmyeyesquickly.Turning
myhead—I’mpleasedthatitrespondstomywill—Iopenmyeyesagain.
Christianisasleep,sittingbesidemeandleaningonmybedwithhisheadon
hisfoldedarms.Ireachout,gratefuloncemorethatmybodyresponds,and
runmyfingersthroughhissofthair.431|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
He’sstartledawake,raisinghisheadsosuddenlymyhandfallsweaklyback
ontothebed.
“Hi,”Icroak.
“Oh,Ana.”Hisvoiceischokedandrelieved.Hegraspsmyhand,squeezingit
tightlyandholdingitupagainsthisrough,stubbledcheek.
“Ineedtousethebathroom,”Iwhisper.
Hegapesthenfrownsatmeforamoment.“Okay.”
Istruggletositup.
“Ana,staystill.I’llcallanurse.”Hequicklystands,alarmed,andreachesfor
abuzzeronthebedside.
“Please,”Iwhisper.WhydoIacheeverywhere?“Ineedtogetup.”
Jeez,Ifeelsoweak.
“Willyoudoasyou’retoldforonce?”hesnaps,exasperated.
“Ireallyneedtopee,”Irasp.Mythroatandmoutharesodry.Anursebustles
intotheroom.Shemustbeinherfifties,thoughherhairisjetblack.She
wearsoverlargepearlearrings.
“Mrs.Greywelcomeback.I’llletDr.Bartleyknowyou’reawake.”
Shemakesherwaytomybedside.“MynameisNora.Doyouknowwhere
youare?”
“Yes.Hospital.Ineedtopee.”
“Youhaveacatheter.”
What?Ohthisisgross.IglanceanxiouslyatChristianthenbacktothenurse.
“Please.Iwanttogetup.”
“Mrs.Grey.”
“Please.”
“Ana,”Christianwarns.Istruggletosituponcemore.
“Letmeremoveyourcatheter.Mr.GreyIamsureMrs.Greywouldlikesome
privacy.”ShelookspointedlyatChristian,dismissinghim.
“I’mnotgoinganywhere.”Heglaresbackather.
“Christian,please,”Iwhisper,reachingoutandgraspinghishand.Brieflyhe
squeezesmyhandthengivesmeanexasperatedlook.
“Please,”Ibeg.
“Fine!”hesnapsandrunshishandthroughhishair.“Youhavetwominutes,”
hehissesatthenurse,andheleansdownandkissesmyforeheadbefore
turningonhisheelandleavingtheroom.432|Page
ELJAMES
ChristianburstsbackintotheroomtwominuteslaterasNurseNorais
helpingmeoutofbed.I’mdressedinathinhospitalgown.Idon’tremember
beingstripped.
“Letmetakeher,”hesaysandstridestowardus.
“Mr.Grey,Icanmanage.”NurseNorascoldshim.
Hegivesherahostileglare.“Dammit,she’smywife.I’lltakeher.”
HesaysthroughgrittedteethashemovestheIVstandoutofhisway.
“Mr.Grey!”sheprotests.
Heignoresher,leansdown,andgently,heliftsmeoffthebed.Iwrapmy
armsaroundhisneck,mybodycomplaining.Jeez,Iacheeverywhere.He
carriesmetotheensuitebathroomwhileNurseNorafollowsus,pushingthe
IVstand.
“Mrs.Grey,you’retoolight,”hemuttersdisapprovinglyashesetsmegently
onmyfeet.Isway.MylegsfeellikeJell-O.Christianflipsthelightswitch,
andI’mmomentarilyblindedbythefluorescentlampthatpingsandflickers
tolife.
“Sitbeforeyoufall,”hesnaps,stillholdingme.
Tentatively,Isitdownonthetoilet.
“Go.”Itrytowavehimout.
“No.Justpee,Ana.”
Couldthisbeanymoreembarrassing?“Ican’t,notwithyouhere.”
“Youmightfall.”
“Mr.Grey!”
Webothignorethenurse.
“Please,”Ibeg.
Heraiseshishandsindefeat.“I’llstandoutside,dooropen.”Hetakesa
coupleofpacesbackuntilhe’sstandingjustoutsidethedoorwiththeangry
nurse.
“Turnaround,please,”Iask.WhydoIfeelsoridiculouslyshywiththisman?
Herollshiseyesbutcomplies.Andwhenhisbackisturned…Iletgo,and
savortherelief.
Itakestockofmyinjuries.Myheadhurts,mychestacheswhereJackkicked
me,andmysidethrobswherehepushedmetotheground.PlusI’mthirsty
andhungry.Jeez,reallyhungry.Ifinishup,thankfulthatIdon’thavetoget
uptowashmyhands,asthesinkisclose.Ijustdon’thavethestrengthto
stand.
433|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’mdone,”Icall,dryingmyhandsonthetowel.
ChristianturnsandcomesbackinandbeforeIknowit,I’minhisarmsagain.
Ihavemissedthesearms.Hepausesandburieshisnoseinmyhair.
“Oh,I’vemissedyou,Mrs.Grey,”hewhispers,andwithNurseNorafussing
behindhim,helaysmebackonthebedandreleasesme—reluctantly,Ithink.
“Ifyou’vequitefinished,Mr.Grey,I’dliketocheckoverMrs.Greynow.”
NurseNoraismad.
Hestandsback.“She’sallyours,”hesaysinamoremeasuredtone.Shehuffs
athimthenturnsherattentionbacktome.Exasperatingisn’the?
“Howdoyoufeel?”sheasksmehervoicelacedwithsympathyandatraceof
irritation,whichIsuspectisforChristian’sbenefit.
“Sore,andthirsty.Verythirsty,”Iwhisper.
“I’llfetchyousomewateronceI’vecheckedyourvitalsandDr.Bartleyhas
examinedyou.”
Shereachesforabloodpressurecuffandwrapsitaroundmyupperarm.I
glanceanxiouslyupatChristian.Helooksdreadful—haunted,even—asifhe
hasn’tsleptfordays.Hishairisamess,hehasn’tshavedforalongtime,and
hisshirtisbadlywrinkled.Ifrown.
“Howareyoufeeling?”Ignoringthenurse,hesitsdownonthebedoutof
arm’sreach.
“Confused.Achy.Hungry.”
“Hungry?”Heblinksinsurprise.
Inod.
“Whatdoyouwanttoeat?”
“Anything.Soup.”
“Mr.Grey,you’llneedtothedoctor’sapprovalbeforeMrs.Greycaneat.”
HegazesatherimpassivelyforamomentthentakeshisBlackBerryoutof
hispantspocketandpressesanumber.
“Anawantschickensoup…Good…Thankyou.”Hehangsup.Iglanceat
NorawhoseeyesnarrowatChristian.
“Taylor?”Iaskquickly.
Christiannods.
“Yourbloodpressureisnormal,Mrs.Grey.I’llfetchthedoctor.”
434|Page
ELJAMES
Sheremovesthecuffand,withoutsomuchasanotherword,stalksoutofthe
room,radiatingdisapproval.
“IthinkyoumadeNurseNoramad.”
“Ihavethateffectonwomen.”Hesmirks.
Ilaugh,thenstopsuddenlyaspainradiatesthroughmychest.“Yes,youdo.”
“OhAna,Ilovetohearyoulaugh.”
Norareturnswithapitcherofwater.Webothfallsilent,gazingateachother
asshepoursoutaglassandhandsittome.
“Smallsipsnow,”shewarns.
“Yes,ma’am,”Imutterandtakeawelcomesipofcoolwater.Ohmy.Ittastes
perfect.Itakeanother,andChristianwatchesmeintently.
“Mia?”Iask.
“She’ssafe.Thankstoyou.”
“Theydidhaveher?”
“Yes.”
Allthemadnesswasforareason.Reliefspiralsthroughmybody.Thank
God,thankGod,thankGodshe’sokay.Ifrown.
“Howdidtheygether?”
“ElizabethMorgan,”hesayssimply.
“No!”
Henods.“ShepickedherupatMia’sgym.”
Ifrown,stillnotunderstanding.
“Ana,I’llfillyouinonthedetailslater.Miaisfine,allthingsconsidered.She
wasdrugged.She’sgroggynowandshakenup,butbysomemiracleshe
wasn’tharmed.”Christian’sjawclenches.“Whatyoudid”—herunshishand
throughhishair—“wasincrediblybraveandincrediblystupid.Youcould
havebeenkilled.”Hiseyesblazeableak,chillinggray,andIknowhe’s
restraininghisanger.
“Ididn’tknowwhatelsetodo,”Iwhisper.
“Youcouldhavetoldme!”hesaysvehemently,fistinghishandsinhislap.
“Hesaidhe’dkillherifItoldanyone.Icouldn’ttakethatrisk.”
Christiancloseshiseyes,dreadetchedinhisface.
“IhavediedathousanddeathssinceThursday.”
Thursday?
“Whatdayisit?”
435|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“It’salmostSaturday,”hesays,checkinghiswatch.“You’vebeen
unconsciousforovertwenty-fourhours.”
Oh.
“AndJackandElizabeth?”
“Inpolicecustody.AlthoughHydeishereunderguard.Theyhadtoremove
thebulletyouleftinhim,”Christiansaysbitterly.“Idon’tknowwhereinthis
hospitalheis,fortunately,orI’dprobablykillhimmyself.”Hisfacedarkens.
Ohshit.Jackishere?
“That’sforSIPyoufuckingbitch!”Ipale.Myemptystomachconvulses,
tearsprickmyeyes,andadeepshudderrunsthroughme.
“Hey.”Christianscootsforward,hisvoicefilledwithconcern.Takingthe
glassfrommyhand,hetenderlyfoldsmeintohisarms.
“You’resafenow,”hemurmursagainstmyhair,hisvoicehoarse.
“Christian,I’msosorry.”Mytearsstarttofall.
“Hush.”Hestrokesmyhair,andIweepintohisneck.
“WhatIsaid.Iwasnevergoingtoleaveyou.”
“Hush,baby,Iknow.”
“Youdo?”Hisadmissionhaltsmytears.
“Iworkeditout.Eventually.Honestly,Ana,whatwereyouthinking?”His
toneisstrained.
“Youtookmebysurprise,”Imutterintohisshirtcollar.“Whenwespokeat
thebank.ThinkingIwasleavingyou.Ithoughtyouknewmebetter.I’vesaid
toyouoverandoverIwouldneverleave.”
“ButaftertheappallingwayI’vebehaved—”Hisvoiceisbarelyaudible,and
hisarmstightenaroundme.“IthoughtforashorttimethatI’dlostyou.”
“No,Christian.Never.Ididn’twantyoutointerfere,andputMia’slifein
danger.”
Hesighs,andIdon’tknowifit’sfromanger,exasperation,orhurt.
“Howdidyouworkitout?”Iaskquicklytodistracthimfromhislineof
thought.Reachingup,hetucksmyhairbehindmyear.
“I’djusttoucheddowninSeattlewhenthebankcalled.LastI’dheard,you
wereillandgoinghome.”
“SoyouwereinPortlandwhenSawyercalledyoufromthecar?”
“Wewerejustabouttotakeoff.Iwasworriedaboutyou,”hesayssoftly.
436|Page
ELJAMES
“Youwere?”
Hefrowns.“OfcourseIwas.”Heskirtshisthumbovermybottomlip.“I
spendmylifeworryingaboutyou.Youknowthat.”
Oh,Christian!
“Jackcalledmeattheoffice,”Imurmur.“Hegavemetwohourstogetthe
money.”Ishrug.“Ihadtoleave,anditjustseemedthebestexcuse.”
Christian’smouthpressesintoahardline.“AndyougaveSawyertheslip.
He’smadatyou,aswell.”
“Aswell?”
“Aswellasme.”
Ireachupandtentativelytouchhisface,runningmyfingersoverhisstubble.
Hecloseshiseyes,leaningintomyfingers.
“Don’tbemadatme.Please,”Iwhisper.
“Iamsomadatyou.Whatyoudidwasmonumentallystupid.Borderingon
insane.”
“Itoldyou,Ididn’tknowwhatelsetodo.”
“Youdon’tseemtohaveanyregardforyourpersonalsafety.Andit’snotjust
younow,”headdsangrily.
Myliptrembles.He’sthinkingaboutourLittleBlip.Thedooropens,startling
usboth,andayoungAfrican-Americanwomaninawhitecoatovergray
scrubsstridesin.
“Goodevening,Mrs.Grey.I’mDr.Bartley.”
Shestartstoexaminemethoroughly,shiningalightinmyeyes,makingme
touchherfingers,thenmynosewhileclosingfirstoneeyeandthentheother,
andcheckingallmyreflexes.Buthervoiceissoftandhertouchgentle;she
hasawarmbedsidemanner.NurseNorajoinsher,andChristianwandersto
thecorneroftheroomandmakessomecallswhilethetwoofthemtendto
me.It’shardtoconcentrateonDr.Bartley,NurseNora,andChristianatthe
sametime,butIhearhimcallhisfather,mymother,andKatetosayI’m
awake.Finally,heleavesamessageforRay.
Ray.Ohshit…Avaguememoryofhisvoicecomesbacktome.Hewashere
—yes,whileIwasstillunconscious.
Dr.Bartleychecksmyribs,herfingersprobinggentlybutfirmly.Iwince.
“Thesearebruised,notcrackedorbroken.Youwereverylucky,437|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Mrs.Grey.”
Iscowl.Lucky?NotthewordIwouldhavechosen.Christianglowersather,
too.Hemouthssomethingatme.Ithinkit’sfoolhardy,butI’mnotsure.
“I’llprescribesomepainkillers.You’llneedthemforthisandforthe
headacheyoumusthave.Butall’slookingasitshould,Mrs.Grey.Isuggest
yougetsomesleep.Dependingonhowyoufeelinthemorning,wemaylet
yougohome.MycolleagueDr.Singhwillbeattendingyouthen.”
“Thankyou.”
There’saknockonthedoor,andTaylorentersbearingablackcardboardbox
withFairmontOlympicemblazonedincreamontheside.
Holycow!
“Food?”Dr.Bartleysayssurprised.
“Mrs.Greyishungry,”Christiansays.“Thisischickensoup.”
Dr.Bartleysmiles.“Soupwillbefine,justthebroth.Nothingheavy.”She
lookspointedlyatbothofusthenexitstheroomwithNurseNora.
Christianpullsthewheeledtrayovertome,andTaylorplacestheboxonit.
“Welcomeback,Mrs.Grey.”
“Hello,Taylor.Thankyou.”
“You’remostwelcome,ma’am.”Ithinkhewantstosaymore,butheholds
off.
Christianisunpackingthebox,producingathermos,soupbowl,sideplate,
linennapkin,soupspoon,asmallbasketofbreadrolls,silversaltandpepper
shakers…TheOlympichasgoneall-out.
“Thisisgreat,Taylor.”Mystomachisrumbling.Iamfamished.
“Willthatbeall?”heasks.
“Yes,thanks,”Christiansays,dismissinghim.
Taylornods.
“Taylor,thankyou.”
“AnythingelseIcangetyou,Mrs.Grey?”
IglanceatChristian.“JustsomecleanclothesforChristian.”
Taylorsmiles.“Yes,ma’am.”
Christianglancesdownathisshirt,bemused.
438|Page
ELJAMES
“Howlonghaveyoubeenwearingthatshirt?”Iask.
“SinceThursdaymorning.”Hegivesmeacrookedsmile.Taylorexits.
“Taylor’srealpissedatyou,too,”Christianaddsgrumpily,unscrewingthelid
ofthethermosandpouringcreamychickensoupintothebowl.
Taylor,too!ButIdon’tdwellonthatasmychickensoupdistractsme.It
smellsdelicious,andsteamcurlsinvitinglyfromitssurface.Itakeatasteand
it’severythingitpromisedtobe.
“Good?”Christianasks,perchingonthebedagain.
Inodenthusiasticallyanddon’tstop.Myhungerisprimal.Ipauseonlyto
wipemymouthonthelinennapkin.
“Tellmewhathappened—afteryourealizedwhatwasgoingon.”
Christianrunshishandthroughhishairandshakeshishead.“Oh,Ana,it’s
goodtoseeyoueat.”
“I’mhungry.Tellme.”
Hefrowns.“Well,afterthebankcalledandIthoughtmyworldhad
completelyfallenapart—”Hecan’thidethepaininhisvoice.Istopeating.
Ohshit.
“Don’tstopeating,orI’llstoptalking,”hewhispers,histoneadamantashe
glaresatme.Icontinuewithmysoup.Okay,okay…Damn,ittastesgood.
Christian’sgazesoftensandafterabeat,heresumes.
“Anyway,shortlyafteryouandIhadfinishedourconversation,Taylor
informedmethatHydehadbeengrantedbail.How,Idon’tknow,Ithought
we’dmanagedtothwartanyattemptsatbail.Butthatgavemeamomentto
thinkaboutwhatyou’dsaid…andIknewsomethingwasseriouslywrong.”
“Itwasneveraboutthemoney,”Isnapsuddenly,anunexpectedsurgeof
angerflaringinmybelly.Myvoicerises.“Howcouldyoueventhinkthat?
It’sneverbeenaboutyourfuckingmoney!”MyheadstartstopoundandI
wince.Christiangapesatmeforasplitsecond,surprisedbymyvehemence.
Henarrowshiseyes.
“Mindyourlanguage,”hegrowls.“Calmdownandeat.”
Iglaremutinouslyathim.
“Ana,”hewarns.
“Thathurtmemorethananything,Christian,”Iwhisper.“Almostas439|Pa
ge
FiftyShadesFreed
muchasyouseeingthatwoman.”
HeinhalessharplyasifI’veslappedhimandallofasudden,helooks
exhausted.Closinghiseyesbriefly,heshakeshishead,resigned.
“Iknow.”Hesighs.“AndI’msorry.Morethanyouknow.”Hiseyesare
luminouswithcontrition.“Please,eat.Whileyoursoupisstillhot.”Hisvoice
issoftandcompelling,andIdoasheasks.Hebreathesasighofrelief.
“Goon,”Iwhisper,betweenbitesoftheillicitfreshwhitebreadroll.
“Wedidn’tknowMiawasmissing.Ithoughtmaybehewasblackmailingyou
orsomething.Icalledyouback,butyoudidn’tanswer.”Hescowls.“Ileft
youamessagethencalledSawyer.Taylorstartedtrackingyourcell.Iknew
youwereatthebank,soweheadedstraightthere.”
“Idon’tknowhowSawyerfoundme.Washetrackingmycell,too?”
“TheSaabisfittedwithatrackingdevice.Allourcarsare.Bythetimewe
gotnearthebank,youwerealreadyonthemove,andwefollowed.Whyare
yousmiling?”
“OnsomelevelIknewyou’dbestalkingme.”
“Andthatisamusingbecause?”heasks.
“Jackhadinstructedmetogetridofmycell.SoIborrowedWhelan’scell,
andthat’stheoneIthrewaway.Iputmineintooneofthedufflebagssoyou
couldtrackyourmoney.”
Christiansighs.“Ourmoney,Ana,”hesaysquietly.“Eat.”
Iwipemysoupbowlwiththelastofmybreadandpopitintomymouth.For
thefirsttimeinalongwhile,Ifeelrepleteinspiteofourconversation.
“Finished.”
“Goodgirl.”
There’saknockonthedoorandNurseNoraentersoncemore,carryinga
smallpapercup.Christianclearsawaymyplate,andstartsputtingallthe
itemsbackintothebox.
“Painrelief.”Norasmiles,showingmethewhitepillinthepapercup.
“Isthisokaytotake?Youknow—withthebaby?”
“Yes,Mrs.Grey.It’sLortab—it’sfine;itwon’taffectthebaby.”
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Inodgratefully.Myheadispounding.Iswallowitdownwithasipofwater.
“Yououghttorest,Mrs.Grey.”NurseNoralookspointedlyatChristian.
Henods.
No!“You’regoing?”Iexclaim,panicsettingin.Don’tgo—we’vejuststarted
talking!
Christiansnorts.“IfyouthinkforonemomentI’mgoingtoletyououtofmy
sight,Mrs.Grey,youareverymuchmistaken.”
NorahuffsbuthoversovermeandreadjustsmypillowssothatIhavetolie
down.
“Goodnight,Mrs.Grey,”shesays,andwithonelastcensoriousglanceat
Christian,sheleaves.
Heraisesaneyebrowassheclosesthedoor.
“Idon’tthinkNurseNoraapprovesofme.”
Hestandsbythebed,lookingtired,andinspiteofthefactthatIwanthimto
stay,IknowIshouldtrytopersuadehimtogohome.
“Youneedrest,too,Christian.Gohome.Youlookexhausted.”
“I’mnotleavingyou.I’lldozeinthisarmchair.”
Iscowlathimthenshiftontomyside.
“Sleepwithme.”
Hefrowns.“No.Ican’t.”
“Whynot?”
“Idon’twanttohurtyou.”
“Youwon’thurtme.Please,Christian.”
“YouhaveanIV.”
“Christian.Please.”
Hegazesatme,andIcantellhe’stempted.
“Please.”Iliftuptheblankets,invitinghimintothebed.
“Fuckit.”Heslipsoffhisshoesandsocks,andgingerlyclimbsinbesideme.
Gently,hewrapshisarmaroundme,andIlaymyheadonhischest.He
kissesmyhair.
“Idon’tthinkNurseNorawillbeveryhappywiththisarrangement,”he
whispersconspiratorially.
Igiggle,thenstopaspainlancesthroughmychest.
“Don’tmakemelaugh.Ithurts.”
“Oh,butIlovethatsound,”hesaysalittlesadly,hisvoicelow.441|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“I’msorry,baby,so,sosorry.”Hekissesmyhairagainandinhalesdeeply,
andIdon’tknowwhathe’sapologizingfor…makingmelaugh?Orthemess
we’rein?Irestmyhandoverhisheart,andhegentlyplaceshishandon
mine.Wearebothsilentforamoment.
“Whydidyougoseethatwoman?”
“Oh,Ana.”Hegroans.“Youwanttodiscussthatnow?Can’twedropthis?I
regretit,okay?”
“Ineedtoknow.”
“I’lltellyoutomorrow,”hemutters,irritated.“Oh,andDetectiveClarkwants
totalktoyou.Justroutine.Nowgotosleep.”
Hekissesmyhair.Isighheavily.Ineedtoknowwhy.Atleasthesayshe
regretsit.That’ssomething,mysubconsciousagrees.She’sinanagreeable
moodtoday,itseems.Ugh,DetectiveClark.Ishudderatthethoughtof
relivingThursday’seventsforhim.
“DoweknowwhyJackwasdoingallthis?”
“Hmm,”Christianmurmurs.I’msoothedbytheslowriseandfallofhis
chest,gentlyrockingmyhead,lullingmetosleepashisbreathingslows.And
asIdriftItrytomakesenseofthefragmentsofconversationsIheardwhileI
wasontheedgeofconsciousness,buttheyslitherthroughmymind,
remainingsteadfastlyelusive,tauntingmefromtheedgesofmymemory.Oh,
it’sfrustratingandexhausting…and…
NurseNora’smouthispursedandherarmsfoldedinhostility.Iholdmy
fingeruptomylips.
“Pleaselethimsleep,”Iwhisper,squintingintheearlymorninglight.
“Thisisyourbed.Nothis,”shehissessternly.
“Isleptbetterbecausehewashere.”Iinsist,rushingtomyhusband’sdefense.
Besides,it’strue.Christianstirs,andNurseNoraandIfreeze.
Hemumblesinhissleep,“Don’ttouchme.Nomore.OnlyAna.”
Ifrown.IhaverarelyheardChristiantalkinhissleep.Admittedly,thatmight
bebecausehesleepslessthanIdo.I’veonlyeverheardhisnightmares.His
armstightenaroundme,squeezingme,andIwince.
“Mrs.Grey—”NurseNoraglowers.
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“Please,”Ibeg.
Sheshakesherhead,turnsonherheelandleaves,andIsnuggleupagainst
Christianagain.
WhenIwake,Christianisnowheretobeseen.Thesunisblazingthroughthe
windows,andIcannowreallyappreciatetheroom.Ihaveflowers!Ididn’t
noticethemthenightbefore.Severalbouquets.Iwonderidlywhothey’re
from.
Asoftknockdistractsme,andCarrickpeeksaroundthedoor.Hebeamswhen
heseesthatI’mawake.
“MayIcomein?”heasks.
“Ofcourse.”
Hestridesintotheroomandovertome,hissoft,gentleblueeyesassessing
meshrewdly.He’swearingadarksuit—hemustbeworking.Hesurprisesme
byleaningdownandkissingmyforehead.
“MayIsit?”
Inod,andheperchesontheedgeofthebedandtakesmyhand.
“Idon’tknowhowtothankyouformydaughter,youcrazy,brave,darling
girl.Whatyoudidprobablysavedherlife.Iwillbeforeverinyourdebt.”His
voicewavers,filledwithgratitudeandcompassion.Oh…Idon’tknowwhat
tosay.Isqueezehishandbutremainmute.
“Howareyoufeeling?”
“Better.Sore.”Iadd,forhonesty’ssake.
“Havetheygivenyoumedsforthepain?”
“Lor…something.”
“Good.Where’sChristian?”
“Idon’tknow.WhenIwokeup,hewasgone.”
“Hewon’tbefaraway,I’msure.Hewouldn’tleaveyouwhileyouwere
unconscious.”
“Iknow.”
“He’salittlemadatyou,asheshouldbe.”Carricksmirks.Ah,thisiswhere
Christiangetsitfrom.
“Christianisalwaysmadatme.”
“Ishe?”Carricksmiles,pleased—asifthisisagoodthing.Hissmileis
infectious.
443|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“How’sMia?”
Hiseyescloudandhissmilevanishes.“She’sbetter.Madashell.Ithink
angerisahealthyreactiontowhathappenedtoher.”
“Isshehere?”
“No,she’sbackathome.Idon’tthinkGracewillletheroutofhersight.”
“Iknowhowthatfeels.”
“Youneedwatching,too,”headmonishes.“Idon’twantyoutakinganymore
sillyriskswithyourlifeorthelifeofmygrandchild.”
Iflush.Heknows!
“Gracereadyourchart.Shetoldme.Congratulations.”
“Um…thankyou.”
Hegazesdownatme,andhiseyessoften,thoughhefrownsatmy
expression.
“Christianwillcomearound,”hesaysgently.“Thiswillbethebestthingfor
him.Just…givehimsometime.”
Inod.Oh…They’vespoken.
“I’dbettergo.I’mdueincourt.”Hesmilesandrises.“I’llcheckinonyou
later.GracespeakshighlyofDr.SinghandDr.Bartley.Theyknowwhat
they’redoing.”
Heleansdownandkissesmeoncemore.
“Imeanit,Ana.Icanneverrepaywhatyou’vedoneforus.Thankyou.”
Ilookupathim,blinkingbacktears,suddenlyoverwhelmed,andhestrokes
mycheekaffectionately.Thenheturnsonhisheelsandleaves.Ohmy.I’m
reelingfromhisgratitude.PerhapsnowIcanlettheprenupdebaclego.My
subconsciousnodssagely,inagreementwithmeyetagain.Ishakemyhead
andgingerlygetoutofbed.I’mrelievedtofindthatIammuchsteadieron
myfeetthanyesterday.InspiteofChristiansharingthebed,Ihavesleptwell
andfeelrefreshed.Myheadstillaches,butit’sadullnaggingpain,nothing
likethepoundingyesterday.I’mstiffandsore,butIjustneedabath.Ifeel
grimy.Iheadintotheensuite.
“Ana!”Christianshouts.
“I’minthebathroom,”IcallasIfinishbrushingmyteeth.That444|Page
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feelsbetter.Iignoremyreflectioninthemirror.Jeez,Ilookamess.WhenI
openthedoor,Christianisbythebed,holdingatrayoffood.He’s
transformed.Dressedentirelyinblack,he’sshaved,showered,andlookswell
rested.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Grey,”hesaysbrightly.“Ihaveyourbreakfast.”He
lookssoboyishandmuchhappier.
Wow.IsmilebroadlyathimasIclimbbackintobed.Hepullsoverthetray
onwheelsandliftsthecovertorevealmybreakfast:oatmealwithdriedfruits,
pancakeswithbaconandmaplesyrup,orangejuiceandTwiningsbreakfast
tea.Mymouthwaters;I’msohungry.Idowntheorangejuiceinafewgulps
anddigintotheoatmeal.Christiansitsdownontheedgeofthebedtowatch.
Hesmirksatme.
“What?”Iaskwithmymouthfull.
“Iliketowatchyoueat,”hesays.ButIdon’tthinkthat’swhathe’ssmirking
about.“Howareyoufeeling?”
“Better,”Imutterbetweenmouthfuls.
“I’veneverseenyoueatlikethis.”
Iglanceupathim,andmyheartsinks.Wehavetoaddresstheverytiny
elephantintheroom.
“It’sbecauseI’mpregnant,Christian.”
Hesnorts,andhismouthtwistsintoanironicsmile.“IfIknewgettingyou
knockedupwasgoingtomakeyoueat,Imighthavedoneitearlier.”
“ChristianGrey!”Igaspandsettheoatmealdown.
“Don’tstopeating,”hewarns.
“Christian,weneedtotalkaboutthis.”
Hestills.“What’stheretosay?We’regoingtobeparents.”Heshrugs,
desperatelytryingtolooknonchalant,butallIcanseeishisfear.Pushingthe
trayaside,Icrawldownthebedtohimandtakehishandsinmine.
“You’rescared,”Iwhisper.“Igetit.”
Hegazesatme,impassive,hiseyeswideandallhisearlierboyishness
strippedaway.
“Iam,too.That’snormal,”Iwhisper.
“WhatkindoffathercouldIpossiblybe?”Hisvoiceishoarse,barelyaudible.
“Oh,Christian.”Istifleasob.“Onethattrieshisbest.That’sallany445|Pa
ge
FiftyShadesFreed
ofuscando.”
“Ana—Idon’tknowifIcan…”
“Ofcourseyoucan.You’reloving,you’refun,you’restrong,you’llset
boundaries.Ourchildwillwantfornothing.”
He’sfrozen,staringatme,doubtetchedonhisbeautifulface.Icontinue.
“Yes,itwouldhavebeenidealtohavewaited.Tohavelonger,justthetwoof
us.Butwe’llbethreeofus,andwe’llallgrowuptogether.We’llbeafamily.
Ourownfamily.Andyourchildwillloveyouunconditionally,likeIdo.”
Tearsspringtomyeyes.
“Oh,Ana,”Christianwhispers,hisvoiceanguishedandpained.“IthoughtI’d
lostyou.ThenIthoughtI’dlostyouagain.Seeingyoulyingontheground,
paleandcoldandunconscious—itwasallmyworstfearsrealized.Andnow
hereyouare—braveandstrong…givingmehope.Lovingmeafterallthat
I’vedone.”
“Yes,Idoloveyou,Christian,desperately.Ialwayswill.”
Gentlytakingmyheadbetweenhishands,hewipesmytearsawaywithhis
thumbs.Hegazesintomyeyes,graytoblue,andallIseeishisfearand
wonderandlove.
“Iloveyou,too,”hebreathes.Andhebendsandkissesmesweetly,tenderly
likeamanwhoadoreshiswife.
“I’lltrytobeagoodfather,”hewhispersagainstmylips.
“You’lltry,andyou’llsucceed.Andlet’sfaceit;youdon’thavemuchchoice
inthematter,becauseBlipandIarenotgoinganywhere.”
“Blip?”
“Blip.”
Heraiseshiseyebrows.“IhadthenameJuniorinmyhead.”
“Junioritis,then.”
“ButIlikeBlip.”Hesmileshisshysmileandkissesmeoncemore.
446|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterTwenty-four
“MuchasI’dliketokissyouallday,yourbreakfastisgettingcold,”
Christianmurmursagainstmylips.Hegazesdownatme,nowamused,
excepthiseyesaredarker,sensual.Holycow,he’sswitchedagain.MyMr.
Mercurial.
“Eat,”heorders,hisvoicesoft.Iswallow,areactiontohissmolderinglook,
andcrawlbackintobed,avoidingsnaggingmyIV
line.Hepushesthetrayinfrontofme.Theoatmealiscold,butthepancakes
underthecoverarefine—infact,they’remouthwatering.
“Youknow,”Imutterbetweenmouthfuls,“Blipmightbeagirl.”
Christianrunshishandthroughhishair.“Twowomen,eh?”Alarmflashes
acrosshisface,andhisdarklookvanishes.Ohcrap.
“Doyouhaveapreference?”
“Preference?”
“Boyorgirl.”
Hefrowns.“Healthywilldo,”hesaysquietlyclearlydisconcertedbythe
question.“Eat,”hesnaps,andIknowhe’stryingtoavoidthesubject.
“I’meating,I’meating…Jeez,keepyourhairon,Grey.”Iwatchhim
carefully.Thecornersofhiseyesarecrinkledwithworry.He’ssaidhe’lltry,
butIknowhe’sstillfreakedoutbythebaby.Oh,Christian,soamI.Hesits
downinthearmchairbesideme,pickinguptheSeattleTimes.
“Youmadethepapersagain,Mrs.Grey.”Hisistonebitter.
“Again?”
“Thehacksarejustrehashingyesterday’sstory,butitseemsfactually
accurate.Youwanttoreadit?”
Ishakemyhead.“Readittome.I’meating.”
Hesmirksandproceedstoreadthearticlealoud.It’sareportonJackand
Elizabeth,depictingthemasamodern-dayBonnieandClyde.Itbriefly
coversMia’skidnap,myinvolvementinMia’srescue,andthe447|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
factthatbothJackandIareinthesamehospital.Howdoesthepressgetall
thisinformation?ImustaskKate.Christianfinishes.
“Pleasereadsomethingelse.Ilikelisteningtoyou.”
Heobligesandreadsmeareportaboutaboomingbagelbusinessandthefact
thatBoeinghashadtocancelthelaunchofsomeplane.Christianfrownsas
hereads.ButlisteningtohissoothingvoiceasIeat,secureintheknowledge
thatIamfine,MiaissafeandmyLittleBlipissafe,Ifeelapreciousmoment
ofpeaceinspiteofallthathashappenedoverthelastfewdays.
IunderstandthatChristianisscaredaboutthebaby,butIdon’tunderstandthe
depthofhisfear.Iresolvetotalktohimsomemoreaboutthis.SeeifIcan
puthismindatease.Whatpuzzlesmeisthathehasn’tlackedforpositiverole
modelsasparents.BothGraceandCarrickareexemplaryparents,orsothey
seem.MaybeitwastheBitchTroll’sinterferencethatdamagedhimsobadly.
I’dliketothinkso.ButintruthIthinkitgoesbacktohisbirthmom,though
I’msureMrs.Robinsondidn’thelp.IhaltmythoughtsasInearlyrecalla
whisperedconversation.Damn!Ithoversontheedgeofmymemoryfrom
whenIwasunconscious.ChristiantalkingwithGrace.Itmeltsawayintothe
shadowsofmymind.Oh,it’ssofrustrating.
IwonderifChristianwillevervolunteerthereasonhewenttoseeherorif
I’llhavetopushhim.I’mabouttoaskwhenthere’saknockonthedoor.
DetectiveClarkmakesanapologeticentryintotheroom.He’srighttobe
apologetic—myheartsinkswhenIseehim.
“Mr.Grey,Mrs.Grey.AmIinterrupting?”
“Yes,”snapsChristian.
Clarkignoreshim.“Gladtoseeyou’reawake,Mrs.Grey.Ineedtoaskyoua
fewquestionsaboutThursdayafternoon.Justroutine.Isnowaconvenient
time?”
“Sure,”Imumble,butIdonotwanttoreliveThursday’sevents.
“Mywifeshouldberesting.”Christianbristles.
“I’llbebrief,Mr.Grey.AnditmeansI’llbeoutofyourhairsoonerrather
thanlater.”
ChristianstandsandoffersClarkhischair,thensitsdownbesidemeonthe
bedandtakesmyhand,squeezingitreassuringly.448|Page
ELJAMES
Halfanhourlater,Clarkisdone.I’velearnednothingnew,butIhave
recountedtheeventsofThursdaytohiminahalting,quietvoice,watching
Christiangopaleandgrimaceatsomeparts.
“Iwishyou’daimedhigher,”Christianmutters.
“MighthavedonewomankindaserviceifMrs.Greyhad.”Clarkagrees.
What?
“Thankyou,Mrs.Grey.That’sallfornow.”
“Youwon’tlethimoutagain,willyou?”
“Idon’tthinkhe’llmakebailthistime,ma’am.”
“Doweknowwhopostedhisbail?”Christianasks.
“Nosir.Itwasanonymous.”
Christianfrowns,butIthinkhehashissuspicions.Clarkrisestoleavejustas
Dr.Singhandtwointernsentertheroom.
Afterathoroughexamination,Dr.Singhdeclaresmefittogohome.Christian
sagswithrelief.
“Mrs.Grey,you’llhavetowatchforworseningheadachesandblurryvision.
Ifthatoccursyoumustreturntothehospitalimmediately.”
Inod,tryingtocontainmydelightatgoinghome.
AsDr.Singhleaves,Christianasksherforaquickwordinthecorridor.He
keepsthedoorajarasheasksheraquestion.Shesmiles.
“Yes,Mr.Grey,that’sfine.”
Hegrinsandreturnstotheroomahappierman.
“Whatwasallthatabout?”
“Sex,”hesays,flashingawickedgrin.
Oh.Iblush.“And?”
“You’regoodtogo.”Hesmirks.
Oh,Christian!
“Ihaveaheadache.”Ismirkrightback.
“Iknow.You’llbeofflimitsforawhile.Iwasjustchecking.”
Offlimits?IfrownatthemomentarystabofdisappointmentIfeel.I’mnot
sureIwanttobeofflimits.
449|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
NurseNorajoinsustoremovemyIV.SheglaresatChristian.Ithinkshe’s
oneofthefewwomenI’vemetwhoisoblivioustohischarms.Ithankher
whensheleaveswithmyIVstand.
“ShallItakeyouhome?”Christianasks.
“I’dliketoseeRayfirst.”
“Sure.”
“Doesheknowaboutthebaby?”
“Ithoughtyou’dwanttobetheonetotellhim.Ihaven’ttoldyourmom
either.”
“Thankyou.”Ismile,gratefulthathehasn’tstolenmythunder.
“Mymomknows,”Christianadds.“Shesawyourchart.Itoldmydadbutno
oneelse.Momsaidcouplesnormallywaitfortwelveweeksorso…tobe
sure.”Heshrugs.
“I’mnotsureI’mreadytotellRay.”
“Ishouldwarnyou,he’smadashell.SaidIshouldspankyou.”
What?Christianlaughsatmyappalledexpression.“ItoldhimI’dbeonlytoo
willingtooblige.”
“Youdidn’t!”Igasp,thoughamemoryofawhisperedconversationwhileI
wasunconscioustantalizesme.Yes,RaywasherewhileIwaslaidout…
Hewinksatme.“Here,Taylorbroughtyousomecleanclothes.I’llhelpyou
dress.”
AsChristianpredicted,Rayisfurious.Idon’teverrememberhimbeingthis
mad.Christianhaswiselydecidedtoleaveusalonetogether.Forsucha
taciturnman,Rayfillshishospitalroomwithhisinvective,beratingmefor
myirresponsiblebehavior.Iamtwelveyearsoldagain.Oh,Dad,pleasecalm
down.Yourbloodpressureisnotuptothis.
“AndI’vehadtodealwithyourmother,”hegrumbles,wavingbothofhis
handsinexasperation.
“Dad,I’msorry.”
“AndpoorChristian!I’veneverseenhimlikethat.He’saged.We’veboth
agedyearsoverthelastcoupleofdays.”
“Ray,I’msorry.”
“Yourmotheriswaitingforyourcall,”hesaysinamoremeasuredtone.
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Ileanoverandkisshischeek,andfinallyherelentsfromhistirade.
“I’llcallher.Ireallyamsorry.Butthankyouforteachingmetoshoot.”
Foramoment,heregardsmewithill-concealedpaternalpride.“I’mgladyou
canshootstraight,”hesays,hisvoicegruff.“Nowgoonhomeandgetsome
rest.”
“Youlookwell,Dad.”Itrytochangethesubject.
“Youlookpale.”Hisfearissuddenlyevident.HislookmirrorsChristian’s
fromlastnight,andIgrasphishand.
“I’mokay.IpromiseIwon’tdoanythinglikethatagain.”
Hesqueezesmyhandandpullsmeintoahug.“Ifanythinghappenedtoyou,”
hewhispers,hisvoicehoarseandlow.Tearsprickmyeyes.Iamnotusedto
displaysofemotionfrommystepfather.
“Dad,I’mgood.Nothingthatahotshowerwon’tcure.”
Weleavethroughtherearexitofthehospitaltoavoidthepaparazzigathered
attheentrance.TaylorleadsustothewaitingintheSUV.Christianisquietas
Sawyerdrivesushome.IavoidSawyer’sgazeintherearviewmirror,
embarrassedthatthelasttimeIsawhimwasatthebankwhenIgavehimthe
slip.Icallmymom,whosobsdownthephone.Ittakesmostofthejourney
hometocalmherdown,butIsucceedbypromisingthatwe’llvisitsoon.
Throughoutmyconversationwithher,Christianholdsmyhand,brushinghis
thumbacrossmyknuckles.He’snervous…something’shappened.
“What’swrong?”IaskwhenI’mfinallyfreefrommymother.
“Welchwantstoseeme.”
“Welch?Why?”
“He’sfoundsomethingoutaboutthatfuckerHyde.”Christian’slipcurlsinto
asnarl,andafrissonoffearpassesthroughme.“Hedidn’twanttotellmeon
thephone.”
“Oh.”
“He’scomingherethisafternoonfromDetroit.”
“Youthinkhe’sfoundaconnection?”
Christiannods.
“Whatdoyouthinkitis?”
“Ihavenoidea.”Christian’sbrowfurrows,perplexed.451|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
TaylorpullsintothegarageatEscalaandstopsbytheelevatortoletusout
beforeheparks.Inthegarage,wecanavoidtheattentionofthewaiting
photographers.Christianushersmeoutofthecar.Keepinghisarmaroundmy
waist,heleadsmetothewaitingelevator.
“Gladtobehome?”heasks.
“Yes,”Iwhisper.ButasIstandinthefamiliarsurroundingsoftheelevator,
theenormityofwhatI’vebeenthroughcrashesoverme,andIstarttoshake.
“Hey—”Christianwrapshisarmsaroundmeandpullsmeclose.
“You’rehome.You’resafe,”hesays,kissingmyhair.
“Oh,Christian.”AdamIdidn’tevenknowwasinplacebursts,andIstartto
sob.
“Hushnow,”Christianwhispers,cradlingmyheadagainsthischest.Butit’s
toolate.Iweep,overwhelmed,intohisT-shirt,recallingJack’sviciousattack
—“That’sforSIP,youfuckingbitch!”—tellingChristianIwasleaving—
“You’releavingme?”—andmyfear,mygutwrenchingfearforMia,for
myself,andforBlip.Whenthedoorsoftheelevatorslideopen,Christian
picksmeuplikeachildandcarriesmeintothefoyer.Iwrapmyarmsaround
hisneckandclingtohim,keeningquietly.
Hecarriesmethroughtoourbathroomandgentlysettlesmeonthechair.
“Bath?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead.No…no…notlikeLeila.
“Shower?”Hisvoiceischokedwithconcern.
Throughmytears,Inod.Iwanttowashawaythegrimeofthelastfewdays,
washawaythememoryofJack’sattack.“Yougolddiggingwhore.”Isobinto
myhandsasthesoundofthewatercascadingfromtheshowerechoesoffthe
walls.
“Hey,”Christiancroons.Kneelinginfrontofme,hepullsmyhandsaway
frommytear-stainedcheeksandcupsmyfaceinhishands.Igazeathim,
blinkingawaymytears.
“You’resafe.Youbothare,”hewhispers.
Blipandme.Myeyesbrimwithtearsagain.
“Stop,now.Ican’tbearitwhenyoucry.”Hisvoiceishoarse.Histhumbs
wipemycheeks,butmytearsstillflow.
“I’msorry,Christian.Justsorryforeverything.Formakingyou452|Page
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worry,forriskingeverything—forthethingsIsaid.”
“Hush,baby,please.”Hekissesmyforehead.“I’msorry.Ittakestwoto
tango,Ana.”Hegivesmeacrookedsmile.“Well,that’swhatmymom
alwayssays.IsaidthingsanddidthingsI’mnotproudof.”
Hisgrayeyesarebleakbutpenitent.“Let’sgetyouundressed.”Hisvoiceis
soft.Iwipemynosewiththebackofmyhand,andhekissesmyforehead
oncemore.
Brisklyhestripsme,takingparticularcareashepullsmyT-shirtovermy
head.Butmyheadisnottoosore.Leadingmetotheshower,hepeelsoffhis
ownclothinginrecordtimebeforesteppingintothewelcomehotwaterwith
me.Hepullsmeintohisarmsandholdsme,holdsmeforthelongesttime,as
thewatergushesoverus,soothingusboth.
Heletsmecryintohischest.Occasionallyhekissesmyhair,buthedoesn’t
letgo,hejustrocksmegentlybeneaththewarmwater.Tofeelhisskin
againstmine,hischesthairagainstmycheek…thismanIlove,thisself-
doubting,beautifulman,themanIcouldhavelostthroughmyown
recklessness.Ifeelemptyandachingatthethoughtbutgratefulthathe’shere,
stillhere—despiteeverythingthat’shappened.
Hehassomeexplainingtodo,butrightnowIwanttorevelinthefeelofhis
comforting,protectivearmsaroundme.Andinthatmomentitoccurstome;
anyexplanationsonhisparthavetocomefromhim.Ican’tforcehim—he’s
gottowanttotellme.Iwon’tbecastasthenaggingwife,constantlytryingto
wheedleinformationoutofherhusband.It’sjustexhausting.Iknowheloves
me.Iknowhelovesmemorethanhe’severlovedanyone,andfornow,that’s
enough.Therealizationisliberating.Istopcryingandstepback.
“Better?”heasks.
Inod.
“Good.Letmelookatyou,”hesays,andforamomentIdon’tknowwhathe
means.ButhetakesmyhandandexaminesthearmIfellonwhenJackhit
me.Therearebruisesonmyshoulderandscrapesatmyelbowandwrist.He
kisseseachofthem.Hegrabsawashclothandshowergelfromtherack,and
thesweetfamiliarscentofjasminefillsmynostrils.
“Turnaround.”Gently,heproceedstowashmyinjuredarm,then453|Page
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myneck,myshoulders,myback,andmyotherarm.Heturnsmesideways,
andtraceshislongfingersdownmyside.Iwinceastheyskateoverthelarge
bruiseatmyhip.Christian’seyeshardenandhislipsthin.Hisangeris
palpableashewhistlesthroughhisteeth.
“Itdoesn’thurt,”Imurmurtoreassurehim.
Blazinggrayeyesmeetmine.“Iwanttokillhim,”hewhispers.“Inearly
did,”headdscryptically.Ifrownthenshiverathisbleakexpression.He
squirtsmoreshowergelonthewashclothandwithtender,achinggentleness,
hewashesmysideandmybehind,then,kneeling,movesdownmylegs.He
pausestoexaminemybruisedknee.Helipsbrushoverthebruisebeforehe
returnstowashingmylegsandmyfeet.Reachingdown,Icaresshishead,
runningmyfingersthroughhiswethair.Hestands,andhisfingerstracethe
outlineofthebruiseonmyribswhereJackkickedme.
“Oh,baby,”hegroans,hisvoicefilledwithanguish,hiseyesdarkwithfury.
“I’mokay.”Ipullhisheaddowntomineandkisshislips.He’shesitantto
reciprocate,butasmytonguemeetshis,hisbodystirsagainstme.
“No,”hewhispersagainstmylips,andhepullsback.“Let’sgetyouclean.”
Hisfaceisserious.Damn…Hemeansit.Ipout,andtheatmospherebetween
uslightensinaninstant.Hegrinsandkissesmebriefly.
“Clean,”heemphasizes.“Notdirty.”
“Ilikedirty.”
“Me,too,Mrs.Grey.Butnotnow,nothere.”Hegrabstheshampoo,and
beforeIcanpersuadehimotherwise,he’swashingmyhair.
Iloveclean,too.Ifeelrefreshedandreinvigorated,andIdon’tknowifit’s
fromtheshower,thecrying,ormydecisiontostophasslingChristianabout
everything.Hewrapsmeinalargetowelanddrapesonearoundhiships
whileIgingerlydrymyhair.Myheadaches,butit’sadullpersistentpainthat
ismorethanmanageable.IhavesomepainkillersfromDr.Singh,butshe’s
askedmenottousethemunlessIhaveto.
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AsIdrymyhair,IthinkaboutElizabeth.
“Istilldon’tunderstandwhyElizabethwasinvolvedwithJack.”
“Ido,”Christianmuttersdarkly.
Thisisnews.Ifrownupathim,butI’mdistracted.He’sdryinghishairwitha
towel,hischestandshouldersstillwetwithbeadsofwaterthatglintbeneath
thehalogens.Hepausesandsmirks.
“Enjoyingtheview?”
“Howdoyouknow?”Iask,tryingtoignorethatI’vebeencaughtstaringat
myownhusband.
“Thatyou’reenjoyingtheview?”heteases.
“No,”Iscold.“AboutElizabeth.”
“DetectiveClarkhintedatit.”
Igivehimmytell-me-moreexpression,andanothernaggingmemoryfrom
whenIwasunconsciousresurfaces.Clarkwasinmyroom.IwishIcould
rememberwhathesaid.
“Hydehadvideos.Videosofallofthem.OnseveralUSBflashdrives.”
What?Ifrown,myskintighteningacrossmyforehead.
“Videosofhimfuckingher.FuckingallhisPAs.”
Oh!
“Exactly.Blackmailmaterial.Helikesitrough.”Christianfrowns,andI
watchconfusionfollowedbydisgustcrosshisface.Hepalesashisdisgust
turnstoself-loathing.Ofcourse—Christianlikesitrough,too.
“Don’t.”ThewordisoutofmymouthbeforeIcanstopit.Hisfrown
deepens.“Don’twhat?”Hestillsandregardsmewithapprehension.
“Don’tthinkyou’reanythinglikehim.”
Christian’seyesharden,buthesaysnothing,confirmingthat’sexactlywhat
hewasthinking.
“You’renot.”Myvoiceisadamant.
“We’recutfromthesamecloth.”
“No,you’renot,”Isnap,thoughIunderstandwhyhemightthinkso.“His
daddiedinabrawlinabar.Hismotherdrankherselfintooblivion.Hewas
inandoutoffosterhomesasakid,inandoutoftrouble,too—mainly
boostingcars.Spenttimeinjuvie.”IrecalltheinformationChristianrevealed
ontheplanetoAspen.455|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Youbothhavetroubledpasts,andyouwerebothborninDetroit.That’sit,
Christian.”Ifistmyhandsonmyhips.
“Ana,yourfaithinmeistouching,inspiteofthelastfewdays.We’llknow
morewhenWelchishere.”He’sdismissingthesubject.
“Christian—”
Hestopsmewithakiss.“Enough,”hebreathes,andIrememberthepromiseI
madetomyselfnottohoundhimforinformation.
“Anddon’tpout,”headds.“Come.Letmedryyourhair.”Iknowthesubject
isclosed
AfterdressinginsweatpantsandaT-shirt,IsitbetweenChristian’slegsashe
driesmyhair.
“SodidClarktellyouanythingelsewhileIwasunconscious?”
“NotthatIrecall.”
“Iheardafewofyourconversations.”
Thehairbrushstillsinmyhair.
“Didyou?”heasks,histonenonchalant.
“Yes.Mydad,yourdad,DetectiveClark…yourmom.”
“AndKate?”
“Katewasthere?”
“Briefly,yes.She’smadatyou,too.”
Iturninhislap.“StopwiththeeveryoneismadatAnacrap,okay?”
“Justtellingyouthetruth,”Christiansays,bemusedbymyoutburst.
“Yes,itwasreckless,butyouknow,yoursisterwasindanger.”
Hisfacefalls.“Yes.Shewas.”Switchingoffthehairdryer,heputsitdownon
thebedbesidehim.Hegraspsmychin.
“Thankyou,”hesays,surprisingme.“Butnomorerecklessness.Because
nexttime,Iwillspankthelivingshitoutofyou.”
Igasp.
“Youwouldn’t!”
“Iwould.”He’sserious.Holycow.Deadlyserious.“Ihaveyourstepfather’s
permission.”Hesmirks.He’steasingme!Orishe?Ilaunchmyselfathim,
andhetwistssothatIfallontothebedandintohisarms.AsIland,painfrom
myribsshootsthroughmeandIwince.Christianpales.“Behave!”he
admonishes,andforamomenthe’sangry.
456|Page
ELJAMES
“Sorry,”Imumble,reachinguptocaresshischeek.Henuzzlesmyhandand
kissesitgently.
“Honestly,Ana,youreallyhavenoregardforyourownsafety.”Hetugsup
thehemofmyT-shirtthenrestshisfingersonmybelly.Istopbreathing.“It’s
notjustyouanymore,”hewhispers,trailinghisfingertipsalongthewaistband
ofmysweats,caressingmyskin.Desireexplodesunexpected,hot,andheavy
inmyblood.IgaspandChristiantenses,haltinghisfingersandgazingdown
atme.Hemoveshishanduptotuckastraylockofhairbehindmyear.
“No,”hewhispers.
What?
“Don’tlookatmelikethat.I’veseenthebruises.Andtheanswer’sno.”His
voiceisfirm,andhekissesmyforehead.
Isquirm.“Christian,”Iwhine.
“No.Getintobed.”Hesitsup.
“Bed?”
“Youneedrest.”
“Ineedyou.”
Hecloseshiseyesandshakeshisheadasifit’sagreateffortofwill.Whenhe
opensthemagain,hiseyesarebrightwithhisresolve.
“Justdoasyou’retold,Ana.”
I’mtemptedtotakeoffallmyclothes,butthenIrememberthebruisesand
knowIwon’twinthatway.Reluctantly,Inod.
“Okay.”Ideliberatelygivehimanexaggeratedpout.Hegrins,amused.“I’ll
bringyousomelunch.”
“You’regoingtocook?”Inearlyexpire.
Hehasthegracetolaugh.“I’mgoingtoheatsomethingup.Mrs.Joneshas
beenbusy.”
“Christian,I’lldoit.I’mfine.Jeez,Iwantsex—Icancertainlycook.”Isitup
awkwardly,tryingtohidemyflinchfrommysmartingribs.
“Bed!”Christian’seyesflashandhepointstothepillow.
“Joinme,”Imurmur,wishingIwerewearingsomethingalittlemorealluring
thansweatpantsandaT-shirt.
“Ana,getintobed.Now.”
Iscowl,standup,andletmypantsdropunceremoniouslytothefloor,glaring
athimthewholetime.Hismouthtwitcheswithhumoras457|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
hepullstheduvetback.
“YouheardDr.Singh.Shesaidrest.”Hisvoiceisgentler.Islipintobedand
foldmyarmsinfrustration.“Stay,”hesaysclearlyenjoyinghimself.
Myscowldeepens.
Mrs.Jones’schickenstewis,withoutdoubt,oneofmyfavoritedishes.
Christianeatswithme,sittingcross-leggedinthemiddleofthebed.
“Thatwasverywellheated.”Ismirkandhegrins.I’mrepleteandsleepy.
Wasthishisplan?
“Youlooktired.”Hepicksupmytray.
“Iam.”
“Good.Sleep.”Heleansdownandkissesme.“IhavesomeworkIneedto
do.I’lldoitinhereifthat’sokaywithyou.”
Inod…fightingalosingbattlewithmyeyelids.Ihadnoideachickenstew
couldbesoexhausting.
It’sduskwhenIwake.Palepinklightfloodstheroom.Christianissittingin
thearmchair,watchingme,grayeyesluminousintheambientlight.He’s
clutchingsomepapers.Hisfaceisashen.Holycow!
“What’swrong?”Iaskimmediately,sittingupandignoringmyprotesting
ribs.
“Welchhasjustleft.”
Ohshit.“And?”
“Ilivedwiththefucker,”hewhispers.
“Lived?WithJack?”
Henods,eyeswide.
“You’rerelated?”
“No.GoodGod,no.”
Ishuffleoverandpulltheduvetback,invitinghimintobedbesideme,andto
mysurprisehedoesn’thesitate.Hekicksoffhisshoesandslidesinalongside
me.Wrappingonearmaroundme,hecurlsup,restinghisheadinmylap.I’m
stunned.What’sthis?
“Idon’tunderstand,”Imurmur,runningmyfingersthroughhishair458|Pa
ge
ELJAMES
andgazingdownathim.Christiancloseshiseyesandfurrowshisbrowasif
he’sstrainingtoremember.
“AfterIwasfoundwiththecrackwhore,beforeIwenttolivewithCarrick
andGrace,IwasinthecareofMichiganState.Ilivedinafosterhome.ButI
can’trememberanythingaboutthattime.”
Mymindreels.Afosterhome?Thisisnewstobothofus.
“Forhowlong?”Iwhisper.
“Twomonthsorso.Ihavenorecollection.”
“Haveyouspokentoyourmomanddadaboutit?”
“No.”
“Perhapsyoushould.Maybetheycouldfillintheblanks.”
Hehugsmetightly.“Here.”Hehandsmethepapers,whichturnouttobetwo
photographs.IreachoverandswitchonthebedsidelightsoIcanexamine
themindetail.Thefirstphotoisofashabbyhousewithayellowfrontdoor
andalargegabledwindowintheroof.Ithasaporchandasmallfrontyard.
It’sanunremarkablehouse.Thesecondphotoisofafamily—atfirstglance,
anordinarybluecollarfamily—amanandhiswife,Ithink,andtheirchildren.
Theadultsarebothdressedindowdy,overwashedblueT-shirts.Theymustbe
intheirforties.Thewomanhasscraped-backblondhair,andthemanasevere
buzz-cut,buttheyarebothsmilingwarmlyatthecamera.Themanhashis
handdrapedovertheshouldersofasullenteenagegirl.Igazeateachofthe
children:twoboys—identicaltwins,abouttwelve—bothwithsandyblond
hair,grinningbroadlyatthecamera;there’sanotherboy,who’ssmaller,
blonder,scowling;andhidingbehindhim,acopper-hairedgray-eyedlittle
boy.Wide-eyedandscared,dressedinmismatchedclothes,andclutchinga
child’sdirtyblanket.
Fuck.“Thisisyou,”Iwhisper,myheartlurchingintomythroat.Iknow
Christianwasfourwhenhismotherdied.Butthischildlooksmuchyounger.
Hemusthavebeenseverelymalnourished.Istifleasobastearsspringtomy
eyes.Oh,mysweetFifty.Christiannods.“That’sme.”
“Welchbroughtthesephotos?”
“Yes.Idon’trememberanyofthis.”Hisvoiceisflatandlifeless.
“Rememberbeingwithfosterparents?Whyshouldyou?Christian,itwasa
longtimeago.Isthiswhat’sworryingyou?”
459|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Irememberotherthings,frombeforeandafter.WhenImetmymomand
dad.Butthis…It’slikethere’sahugechasm.”
Myhearttwistsandunderstandingdawns.Mydarlingcontrolfreaklikes
everythinginitsplace,andnowhe’slearnedhe’smissingpartofthejigsaw.
“IsJackinthispicture?”
“Yes,he’stheolderkid.”Christian’seyesarestillscrewedshut,andhe’s
clingingtomeasifI’maliferaft.IrunmyfingersthroughhishairwhileI
gazeattheolderboywhoisglaring,defiantandarrogant,atthecamera.Ican
seeit’sJack.Buthe’sjustakid,asadeightornine-yearold,hidinghisfear
behindhishostility.Athoughtoccurstome.
“WhenJackcalledtotellmehehadMia,hesaidifthingshadbeendifferent,
itcouldhavebeenhim.”
Christiancloseshiseyesandshudders.“Thatfucker!”
“YouthinkhedidallthisbecausetheGreysadoptedyouinsteadofhim?”
“Whoknows?”Christian’stoneisbitter.“Idon’tgiveafuckabouthim.”
“PerhapsheknewwewereseeingeachotherwhenIwentforthatjob
interview.Perhapsheplannedtoseducemeallalong.”Bilerisesinmythroat.
“Idon’tthinkso,”Christianmutters,hiseyesnowopen.“Thesearcheshedid
onmyfamilydidn’tstartuntilaweekorsoafteryoubeganyourjobatSIP.
Barneyknowstheexactdates.And,Ana,hefuckedallhisassistantsand
tapedthem.”Christiancloseshiseyesandtightenshisgriponmeoncemore.
Suppressingthetremorthatrunsthroughme,Itrytorecallmyvarious
conversationswithJackwhenIfirststartedatSIP.Iknewdeepdownhewas
badnews,yetIignoredallmyinstincts.Christian’sright—Ihavenoregard
formyownsafety.IrememberthefightwehadaboutmegoingtoNewYork
withJack.Jeez—Icouldhaveendeduponsomesordidsextape.Thethought
isnauseating.AndinthatmomentIrecallthephotographsChristiankeptof
hissubmissives.Ohshit.“We’recutfromthesamecloth.”No,Christian,
you’renot,you’renothinglikehim.He’sstillcurledaroundme,likeasmall
boy.
“Christian,Ithinkyoushouldtalktoyourmomanddad.”Iamreluctantto
movehim,soIshiftandslidebackintothebeduntilweare460|Page
ELJAMES
eyetoeye.
Abewilderedgraygazemeetsmine,remindingmeofthechildinthe
photograph.
“Letmecallthem,”Iwhisper.Heshakeshishead.“Please.”Ibeg.Christian
staresatme,painandself-doubtreflectedinhiseyesasheconsidersmy
request.Oh,Christian,please!
“I’llcallthem,”hewhispers.
“Good.Wecangoandseethemtogether,oryoucango.Whicheveryou
prefer.”
“No.Theycancomehere.”
“Why?”
“Idon’twantyougoinganywhere.”
“Christian,I’mupforacarjourney.”
“No.”Hisvoiceisfirm,buthegivesmeanironicsmile.“Anyway,it’s
Saturdaynight,they’reprobablyatsomefunction.”
“Callthem.Thisnewshasobviouslyupsetyou.Theymightbeabletoshed
somelight.”Iglanceattheradioalarm.It’salmostsevenintheevening.He
regardsmeimpassivelyforamoment.
“Okay,”hesaysasifI’veissuedhimwithachallenge.Sittingup,hereaches
forthebedsidephone.
Iwrapmyarmaroundhimandrestmyheadonhischestashemakesthecall.
“Dad?”IregisterhissurprisethatCarrickhasansweredthephone.
“Ana’sgood.We’rehome.Welchhasjustleft.Hefoundouttheconnection
…thefosterhomeinDetroit…Idon’trememberanyofthat.”Christian’s
voiceisalmostinaudibleashemuttersthelastsentence.Myheartconstricts
oncemore.Ihughim,andhesqueezesmyshoulder.
“Yeah…Youwill?…Great.”Hehangsup.“They’reontheirway.”He
soundssurprised,andIrealizethathe’sprobablyneveraskedthemforhelp.
“Good.Ishouldgetdressed.”
Christian’sarmtightensaroundme.“Don’tgo.”
“Okay.”Isnuggleintohissideagain,stunnedbythefactthathe’sjusttoldme
agreatdealabouthimself—entirelyvoluntarily.
461|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Aswestandatthethresholdtothegreatroom,Gracewrapsmegentlyinher
arms.
“Ana,Ana,darlingAna,”shewhispers.“Savingtwoofmychildren.Howcan
Ieverthankyou?”
Iblush,touchedandembarrassedinequalmeasurebyherwords.Carrick
hugsme,too,kissingmyforehead.
ThenMiagrabsme,squashingmyribs.Iwinceandgasp,butshedoesn’t
notice.“Thankyouforsavingmefromthoseassholes.”
Christianscowlsather.“Mia!Careful!She’sinpain.”
“Oh!Sorry.”
“I’mgood,”Imutter,relievedwhenshereleasesme.Shelooksfine.
Impeccablydressedintightblackjeansandapalepinkfrillyblouse.I’mglad
I’mwearingmycomfortablewrapdressandflats.AtleastIlookreasonably
presentable.
RacingovertoChristian,Miacurlsherarmaroundhiswaist.Wordlessly,he
handsGracethephoto.Shegasps,herhandflyingtohermouthtocontainher
emotionassheinstantlyrecognizesChristian.Carrickwrapshisarmaround
hershoulderashe,too,examinesit.
“Oh,darling.”GracecaressesChristian’scheek.
Taylorappears.“Mr.Grey?MissKavanagh,herbrother,andyourbrotherare
comingup,sir.”
Christianfrowns.“Thankyou,Taylor,”hemutters,bemused.
“IcalledElliotandtoldhimwewerecomingover.”Miagrins.“It’sa
welcome-homeparty.”
IsneakasympatheticglanceatmypoorhusbandasbothGraceandCarrick
glareatMiainexasperation.
“We’dbettergetsomefoodtogether,”Ideclare.“Mia,willyougivemea
hand?”
“Oh,I’dloveto.”
IusherhertowardthekitchenareaasChristianleadshisparentsintohis
study.
Kateisapoplecticwithrighteousindignationthat’saimedatme,Christian,
butmostofallJackandElizabeth.
“Whatwereyouthinking,Ana?”sheshoutsassheconfrontsmeinthe
kitchen,causingalleyesintheroomtoturnandstare.462|Page
ELJAMES
“Kate,please.I’vehadthesamelecturefromeveryone!”Isnapback.She
glaresatme,andforoneminuteIthinkI’mgoingtobesubjectedtoa
KatherineKavanaghhow-not-to-succumb-to-kidnapperslecture,butinstead
shefoldsmeintoherarms.
“Jeez—sometimesyoudon’thavethebrainsyouwerebornwith,Steele,”she
whispers.Asshekissesmycheek,therearetearsinhereyes.Kate!“I’ve
beensoworriedaboutyou.”
“Don’tcry.You’llsetmeoff.”
Shestandsbackandwipeshereyes,embarrassed,thentakesadeepbreath
andcomposesherself.“Onamorepositivenote,we’vesetadateforour
wedding.WethoughtnextMay?AndofcourseIwantyoutobemymatron
ofhonor.”
“Oh…Kate…Wow.Congratulations!”Crap—Li’lBlip…Junior!
“Whatisit?”sheasks,misinterpretingmyalarm.
“Um…I’mjustsohappyforyou.Somegoodnewsforachange.”
Iwrapmyarmsaroundherandpullherintoahug.Shit,shit,shit.Whenis
Blipdue?MentallyIcalculatemyduedate.Dr.GreenesaidIwasfourorfive
weeks.So—sometimeinMay?Shit.Elliothandsmeaglassofchampagne.
Oh.Shit.
Christianemergesfromhisstudy,lookingashen,andfollowshisparentsinto
thegreatroom.Hiseyeswidenwhenheseestheglassinmyhand.
“Kate,”hegreetshercoolly.
“Christian.”Sheisequallycool.Isigh.
“Yourmeds,Mrs.Grey.”Heeyestheglassinmyhand.Inarrowmyeyes.
Dammit.Iwantadrink.Gracesmilesasshejoinsmeinthekitchen,
collectingaglassfromElliotontheway.
“Asipwillbefine,”shewhisperswithaconspiratorialwinkatme,andlifts
herglasstoclinkmine.Christianscowlsatbothofus,untilElliotdistracts
himwithnewsoftheMariners’latestmatchagainsttheRangers.
Carrickjoinsus,puttinghisarmsaroundusboth,andGracekisseshischeek
beforejoiningMiaonthesofa.
“Howishe?”IwhispertoCarrickasheandIstandinthekitchenwatching
thefamilyloungeonthesofa.InotewithsurprisethatMia463|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
andEthanareholdinghands.
“Shaken,”Carrickmurmurstome,hisbrowfurrowing,hisfaceserious.“He
rememberssomuchofhislifewithhisbirthmother;manythingsIwishhe
didn’t.Butthis—”Hestops.“Ihopewe’vehelped.I’mgladhecalledus.He
saidyoutoldhimto.”Carrick’sgazesoftens.Ishrugandtakeahastysipof
champagne.
“You’reverygoodforhim.Hedoesn’tlistentoanyoneelse.”
IblinkupatCarrick,frowning.Idon’tthinkthat’strue.Theunwelcome
specteroftheBitchTrollloomslargeinmymind.IknowChristiantalksto
Grace,too.Iheardhim.AgainIfeelamoment’sfrustrationasItrytofathom
theirconversationinthehospital,butitstilleludesme.
“Comeandsitdown,Ana.Youlooktired.I’msureyouweren’texpectingall
ofusherethisevening.”
“It’sgreattoseeeveryone.”Ismile.Becauseit’strue,itisgreat.I’manonly
childwhohasmarriedintoalargeandgregariousfamily,andIloveit.I
snuggleupnexttoChristian.
“Onesip,”hehissesatmeandtakesmyglassfrommyhand.
“Yes,Sir.”Ibatmylashes,disarminghimcompletely.Heputshisarmaround
myshouldersandreturnstohisbaseballconversationwithElliotandEthan.
“Myparentsthinkyouwalkonwater,”Christianmuttersashedragsoffhis
T-shirt.I’mcurledupinbedwatchingthefloorshow.
“Goodthingyouknowdifferently.”Isnort.
“Oh,Idon’tknow.”Heslipsoutofhisjeans.
“Didtheyfillinthegapsforyou?”
“Some.IlivedwiththeColliersfortwomonthswhileMomandDadwaited
forthepaperwork.Theywerealreadyapprovedforadoptionbecauseof
Elliot,butthewait’srequiredbylawtoseeifIhadanylivingrelativeswho
wantedtoclaimme.”
Oh.
“Howdoyoufeelaboutthat?”Iwhisper.
Hefrowns.“Abouthavingnolivingrelatives?Fuckthat.Iftheywere
anythinglikethecrackwhore…”Heshakeshisheadindisgust.Oh,
Christian!Youwereachild,andyoulovedyourmom.464|Page
ELJAMES
Heslidesonhispajamas,climbsintobed,andgentlypullsmeintohisarms.
“It’scomingbacktome.Irememberthefood.IthinkMrs.Colliercould
cook.Andatleastweknownowwhythatfuckerissohunguponmy
family.”Herunshisfreehandthroughhishair.“Fuck!”hesayssuddenly
turningtogapeatme.
“What?”
“Itmakessensenow!”Hiseyesarefullofrecognizance.
“What?”
“BabyBird.Mrs.CollierusedtocallmeBabyBird.”
Ifrown.“Whatmakessense?”
“Thenote,”hesaysgazingatme.“Theransomnotethatfuckerleft.Itwent
somethinglike‘DoyouknowwhoIam?BecauseIknowwhoyouare,Baby
Bird.’”
Thisisnotmakesnosensetomeatall.
“It’sfromakidsbook.Shit.I’vejustremembered.TheColliershadit.Itwas
called…‘AreYouMyMother?’Shit.”Hiseyeswiden.“Ilovedthatbook.”
Oh.Iknowthatbook.Myheartlurches—Fifty!
“Mrs.Collierusedtoreadittome.”
Iamatalosswhattosay.
“Christ.Heknew…thatfuckerknew.”
“Willyoutellthepolice?”
“Yes.Iwill.ChristknowswhatClarkwilldowiththatinformation.”
Christianshakeshisheadasiftryingtoclearhisthoughts.“Anyway,thank
youforthisevening.”
Whoa.Gearchange.
“Forwhat?”
“Cateringformyfamilyatamoment’snotice.”
“Don’tthankme,thankMiaandMrs.Jones.Shekeepsthepantrywell
stocked.”
Heshakeshisheadasifinexasperation.Atme?Why?
“Howareyoufeeling,Mrs.Grey?”
“Good.Howareyoufeeling?”
“I’mfine.”Hefrowns…notunderstandingmyconcern.Oh…inthatcase.I
trailmyfingersdownhisstomachtohisoh-sohappytrail.465|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Helaughsandgrabsmyhand.“Ohno.Don’tgetanyideas.”
Ipout,andhesighs.“Ana,Ana,Ana,whatamIgoingtodowithyou?”He
kissesmyhair.
“Ihavesomeideas.”Isquirmbesidehim,andwinceaspainradiatesthrough
myupperbodyfrommybruisedribs.
“Baby,you’vebeenthroughenough.Besides,Ihaveabedtimestoryforyou.”
Oh?
“Youwantedtoknow…”Hetrailsoff,closeshiseyesandswallows.Allof
thehaironmybodystandsonend.Shit.Hebeginsinasoftvoice.“Picture
this,anadolescentboylookingtoearnsomeextramoneysohecancontinue
hissecretdrinkinghabit.”
Heshiftsontohissidesothatwe’relyingfacingeachotherandhe’sgazing
intomyeyes.
“SoIwasinthebackyardattheLincolns’,clearingsomerubbleandtrash
fromtheextensionMr.Lincolnhadjustaddedtotheirplace…”
Holyfuck…he’stalking.
466|Page
ELJAMES
ChapterTwenty-five
Icanbarelybreathe.DoIwanttohearthis?Christiancloseshiseyesand
swallows.Whenheopensthemagain,theyarebrightbutdiffident,fullof
disquietingmemories.
“Itwasahotsummerday.Iwasworkinghard.”Hesnortsandshakeshis
head,suddenlyamused.“Itwasbackbreakingworkshiftingthatrubble.Iwas
onmyown,andEle—Mrs.Lincolnappearedoutofnowhereandbroughtme
somelemonade.Weexchangedsmalltalk,andImadesomesmart-assremark
…andsheslappedme.Sheslappedmesohard.”Unconsciously,hishand
movestohisfaceandhecaresseshischeek,hiseyescloudingatthememory.
Holyshit!
“Butthenshekissedme.Andwhenshefinished,sheslappedmeagain.”He
blinks,seeminglystillconfoundedevenafterallthistime.
“I’dneverbeenkissedbeforeorhitlikethat.”
Oh.Shepounced.Onakid.
“Doyouwanttohearthis?”Christiansasks.
Yes…No…
“Onlyifyouwanttotellme.”MyvoiceissmallasIliefacinghim,mymind
reeling.
“I’mtryingtogiveyousomecontext.”
InodinwhatIhopeisanencouragingmanner.ButIsuspectImaylooklikea
statue,frozenandwide-eyedwithshock.Hefrowns,hiseyessearchingmine,
tryingtogaugemyreaction.Thenheturnsontohisbackandstaresupatthe
ceiling.
“Well,naturally,Iwasconfusedandangryandhornyashell.Imean,ahot
olderwomancomesontoyoulikethat—”Heshakeshisheadasifhestill
can’tbelieveit.
Hot?Ifeelqueasy.
“Shewentbackintothehouse,leavingmeinthebackyard.Sheactedasif
nothinghadhappened.Iwasatatotalloss.SoIwentbacktowork,loading
therubbleintothedumpster.WhenIleftthatevening,sheaskedmetocome
backthenextday.Shedidn’tmentionwhathad467|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
happened.SothenextdayIwentback.Icouldn’twaittoseeheragain,”he
whispersasifit’sadarkconfession…becausefranklyitis.
“Shedidn’ttouchmewhenshekissedme,”hemurmursandturnshisheadto
gazeatme.“Youhavetounderstand…mylifewashellonearth.Iwasa
walkinghard-on,fifteenyearsold,tallformyage,hormonesraging.Thegirls
atschool—”Hestops,butI’vegotthepicture:ascared,lonely,butattractive
adolescent.Myhearttwists.
“Iwasangry,sofuckingangryateveryone;atmyself,myfolks.Ihadno
friends.Mytherapistatthetimewasatotalasshole.Myfolks,theykeptme
onatightleash;theydidn’tunderstand.”Hestaresbackupattheceilingand
runsahandthroughhishair.Iitchtorunmyfingersthroughhishair,too,but
Istaystill.
“Ijustcouldn’tbearanyonetotouchme.Icouldn’t.Couldn’tbearanyone
nearme.Iusedtofight…fuck,didIfight.Igotintosomegod-awfulbrawls.
Iwasexpelledfromacoupleofschools.Butitwasawaytoletoffsteam.To
toleratesomekindofphysicalcontact.”Hestopsagain.“Well,yougetthe
idea.Andwhenshekissedme,sheonlygrabbedmyface.Shedidn’ttouch
me.”Hisvoiceisbarelyaudible.Shemusthaveknown.PerhapsGracehad
toldher.Oh,mypoorFifty.Ihavetofoldmyhandsbeneathmypillowand
restmyheadonitinordertoresisttheurgetoholdhim.
“Well,thenextdayIwentbacktothehouse,notknowingwhattoexpect.
AndI’llspareyouthegorydetails,buttherewasmoreofthesame.Andthat’s
howourrelationshipstarted.”
Ohfuck,thisispainfultohear.
Heshiftsagainontohissidesohe’sfacingme.
“Andyouknowsomething,Ana?Myworldcameintofocus.Sharpandclear.
Everything.ItwasexactlywhatIneeded.Shewasabreathoffreshair.
Makingthedecisions,takingallthatshitawayfromme,lettingmebreathe.”
Holyshit.
“Andevenwhenitallfinished,myworldstayedinfocusbecauseofher.And
itstayedthatwayuntilImetyou.”
WhatthehellamIsupposedtosaytothat?Tentatively,hesmoothesastray
lockofmyhairbehindmyear.
“Youturnedmyworldonitshead.”Hecloseshiseyes,andwhenheopens
themagain,theyareraw.“Myworldwasordered,calmand468|Page
ELJAMES
controlled,thenyoucameintomylifewithyoursmartmouth,your
innocence,yourbeauty,andyourquiettemerity…andeverythingbeforeyou
wasjustdull,empty,mediocre…itwasnothing.”
Ohmy.
“Ifellinlove,”hewhispers.
Istopbreathing.Hecaressesmycheek.
“SodidI,”ImurmurwiththelittlebreathIhaveleft.Hiseyessoften.“I
know,”hemouths.
“Youdo?”
“Yes.”
Hallelujah!Ismileshylyathim.“Finally,”Iwhisper.Henods.
“Andit’sputeverythingintoperspectiveforme.WhenIwasyounger,Elena
wasthecenterofmyworld.TherewasnothingIwouldn’tdoforher.Andshe
didalotforme.Shestoppedmydrinking.Mademeworkhardatschool…
Youknow,shegavemeacopingmechanismIhadn’thadbefore,allowedme
toexperiencethingsthatIneverthoughtIcould.”
“Touch,”Iwhisper.
Henods.“Afterafashion.”
Ifrown,wonderingwhathemeans.
Hehesitatesatmyreaction.
Tellme!Iwillhim.
“Ifyougrowupwithawhollynegativeself-image,thinkingyou’resomekind
ofreject,anunlovablesavage,youthinkyoudeservetobebeaten.”
Christian…youarenoneofthosethings.
Hepausesandrunshishandthroughhishair.“Ana,it’smucheasiertowear
yourpainontheoutside…”Again,it’saconfession.Oh.
“Shechanneledmyanger.”Hismouthpressestogetherinableakline.
“Mostlyinward—Irealizethatnow.Dr.Flynn’sbeenonandonaboutthisfor
sometime.ItwasonlyrecentlythatIsawourrelationshipforwhatitwas.
Youknow…onmybirthday.”
IshudderastheunwelcomememoryofElenaandChristianverbally
evisceratingeachotheratChristian’sbirthdaypartysurfacesunwelcomein
mymind.
469|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Forherthatsideofourrelationshipwasaboutsexandcontrolandalonely
womanfindingsomekindofcomfortwithherboytoy.”
“Butyoulikecontrol,”Iwhisper.
“Yes.Ido.Ialwayswill,Ana.It’swhoIam.Isurrendereditforabriefwhile.
Letsomeonemakeallmydecisionsforme.Icouldn’tdoitmyself—Iwasn’t
inafitstate.Butthroughmysubmissiontoher,Ifoundmyselfandfoundthe
strengthtotakechargeofmylife…takecontrolandmakemyown
decisions.”
“BecomeaDom?”
“Yes.”
“Yourdecision?”
“Yes.”
“DroppingoutofHarvard?”
“Mydecision,anditwasthebestdecisionIevermade.UntilImetyou.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”Hislipsquirkupinasoftsmile.“ThebestdecisionIevermadewas
marryingyou.”
Ohmy.“Notstartingyourcompany?”
Heshakeshishead.
“Notlearningtofly?”
Heshakeshishead.“You,”hemouths.Hecaressesmycheekwithhis
knuckles.“Sheknew,”hewhispers.
Ifrown.“Sheknewwhat?”
“ThatIwasheadoverheelsinlovewithyou.Sheencouragedmetogodown
toGeorgiatoseeyou,andI’mgladshedid.Shethoughtyou’dfreakoutand
leave.Whichyoudid.”
Ipale.I’drathernotthinkaboutthat.
“ShethoughtIneededallthetrappingsofthelifestyleIenjoyed.”
“TheDom?”Iwhisper.
Henods.“Itenabledmetokeepeveryoneatarm’slength,gavemecontrol,
andkeptmedetached,orsoIthought.I’msureyou’veworkedoutwhy,”he
addssoftly.
“Yourbirthmom?”
“Ididn’twanttobehurtagain.Andthenyouleftme.”Hiswordsarebarely
audible.“AndIwasamess.”
Ohno.
470|Page
ELJAMES
“I’veavoidedintimacyforsolong—Idon’tknowhowtodothis.”
“You’redoingfine,”Imurmur.Itracehislipswithmyindexfinger.He
pursesthemintoakiss.You’retalkingtome.
“Doyoumissit?”Iwhisper.
“Missit?”
“Thatlifestyle.”
“Yes,Ido.”
Oh!
“ButonlyinsofarasImissthecontrolitbrings.Andfrankly,yourstupid
stunt”—hestops—“thatsavedmysister,”hewhispers,hiswordsfullofrelief,
awe,anddisbelief.“That’showIknow.”
“Know?”
“Reallyknowthatyouloveme.”
Ifrown.“What?”
“Becauseyouriskedsomuch…forme,formyfamily.”
Myfrowndeepens.Hereachesoverandtraceshisfingeroverthemiddleof
mybrowabovemynose.
“YouhaveaVherewhenyoufrown,”hemurmurs.“It’sverysofttokiss.I
canbehavesobadly…andyetyou’restillhere.”
“WhyareyousurprisedI’mstillhere?ItoldyouIwasn’tgoingtoleave
you.”
“BecauseofthewaythatIbehavedwhenyoutoldmeyouwerepregnant.”
Herunshisfingerdownmycheek.“Youwereright.Iamanadolescent.”
Ohshit…Ididsaythat.Mysubconsciousglaresatme.Hisdoctorsaidthat!
“Christian,Isaidsomeawfulthings.”Heputshisindexfingerovermylips.
“Hush.Ideservedtohearthem.Besidesthisismybedtimestory.”
Herollsontohisbackagain.
“Whenyoutoldmeyouwerepregnant—”Hestops.“I’dthoughtitwouldbe
justyouandmeforawhile.I’dconsideredchildren,butonlyintheabstract.I
hadthisvagueideawe’dhaveachildsometimeinthefuture.”
Justone?No…Notanonlychild.Notlikeme.Perhapsnow’snotthebest
timetobringthatup.
“Youarestillsoyoung,andIknowyou’requietlyambitious.”
471|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Ambitious?Me?
“Well,youpulledtherugfromunderme.Christ,wasthatunexpected.Never
inamillionyears,whenIaskedyouwhatwaswrong,didIexpectyoutobe
pregnant.”Hesighs.“Iwassomad.Madatyou.Madatmyself.Madat
everyone.Andittookmeback,thatfeelingofnothingbeinginmycontrol.I
hadtogetout.IwenttoseeFlynn,buthewasatsomeschoolparents’
evening.”Christianpausesandarchesaneyebrow.
“Ironic,”Iwhisper.Christiansmirksinagreement.
“SoIwalkedandwalkedandwalked,andIjust…foundmyselfatthesalon.
Elenawasleaving.Shewassurprisedtoseeme.And,truthbetold,Iwas
surprisedtofindmyselfthere.ShecouldtellIwasmadandaskedmeifI
wantedadrink.”
Ohshit.We’vecuttothechase.Myheartdoublesinspeed.DoIreallywant
toknowthis?Mysubconsciousglaresatme,apluckedeyebrowraisedin
warning.
“WewenttoaquietbarIknowandhadabottleofwine.Sheapologizedfor
thewayshebehavedthelasttimeshesawus.She’shurtthatmymomwill
havenothingtodowithheranymore—it’snarrowedhersocialcircle—but
sheunderstands.Wetalkedaboutthebusiness,whichisdoingfine,inspiteof
therecession…Imentionedthatyouwantedkids.”
Ifrown.What?“IthoughtyouletherknowIwaspregnant.”
Heregardsme,hisfaceguileless.“No,Ididn’t.”
“Whydidn’tyoutellmethat?”
Heshrugs.“Inevergotthechance.”
“Yes,youdid.”
“Icouldn’tfindyouthenextmorning,Ana.AndwhenIdid,youweresomad
atme…”
Oh,yes.“Iwas.”
“Anyway,atsomepointintheevening—abouthalfwaythroughthesecond
bottle—sheleanedovertotouchme.AndIfroze,”hewhispers,throwinghis
armoverhiseyes.
Myscalptingles.What’sthis?
“ShesawthatIrecoiledfromher.Itshockedbothofus.”Hisvoiceislow,too
low.
Whywon’thelookatme?Itugathisarmandhelowersit,turning472|Pag
e
ELJAMES
togazeintomyeyes.Shit.Hisfaceispale,hiseyeswide.
“What?”Ibreathe.
Hefrowns,andswallows.
Oh…whatisn’thetellingme?DoIwanttoknow?
“Shemadeapassatme.”He’sshocked,Icantell.
Allthebreathissuckedfrommybody.Ifeelwinded,andIthinkmyhearthas
stopped.Thatfuckingbitchtroll!
“Itwasamoment,suspendedintime.Shesawmyexpression,andshe
realizedhowfarshe’dcrossedtheline.Isaid…no.Ihaven’tthoughtofher
likethatforyears,andbesides”—heswallows—“Iloveyou.Itoldher,Ilove
mywife.”
Igazeathim.Idon’tknowwhattosay.
“Shebackedrightoff.Apologizedagain,madeitseemlikeajoke.Imean,
shesaidshe’shappywithIsaacandwiththebusinessandshedoesn’tbear
eitherofusanyillwill.Shesaidshemissedmyfriendship,butshecouldsee
thatmylifewaswithyounow.Andhowawkwardthatwas,givenwhat
happenedlasttimewewereallinthesameroom.Icouldn’thaveagreedwith
hermore.Wesaidourgoodbyes—ourfinalgoodbyes.IsaidIwouldn’tsee
heragain,andshewentonherway.”
Iswallow,feargrippingmyheart.“Didyoukiss?”
“No!”hesnorts.“Icouldn’tbeartobethatclosetoher.”
Oh.Good.
“Iwasmiserable.Iwantedtocomehometoyou.But…IknewI’dbehaved
badly.Istayedandfinishedthebottle,thenstartedonthebourbon.WhileI
wasdrinking,Irememberyousayingtomesometimeago,‘Ifthatwasmy
son…’AndIgottothinkingaboutJuniorandabouthowElenaandIstarted.
Anditmademefeel…uncomfortable.I’dneverthoughtofitlikethat
before.”
Amemoryblossomsinmymind—awhisperedconversationfromwhenIwas
halfconscious—Christian’svoice:“Butseeingherfinallyputitallin
perspectiveforme.Youknow…withthechild.ForthefirsttimeIfelt…
Whatwedid…itwaswrong.”He’dbeenspeakingtoGrace.
“That’sit?”
“Prettymuch.”
“Oh.”
473|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Oh?”
“It’sover?”
“Yes.It’sbeenoversinceIlaideyesonyou.Ifinallyrealizeditthatnightand
sodidshe.”
“I’msorry,”Imutter.
Hefrowns.“Whatfor?”
“Beingsoangrythenextday.”
Hesnorts.“Baby,Iunderstandangry.”Hepausesthensighs.“Yousee,Ana,I
wantyoutomyself.Idon’twanttoshareyou.Whatwehave,I’veneverhad
before.Iwanttobethecenterofyouruniverse,forawhileatleast.”
Oh,Christian.“Youare.That’snotgoingtochange.”
Hegivesmeanindulgent,sad,resignedsmile.“Ana,”hewhispers.
“That’sjustnottrue.”
Tearsprickmyeyes.
“Howcanitbe?”hemurmurs.
Ohno.
“Shit—don’tcry,Ana.Please,don’tcry.”Hecaressesmyface.
“I’msorry.”Mylowerliptrembles,andhebrusheshisthumboverit,
soothingme.
“No,Ana,no.Don’tbesorry.You’llhavesomeoneelsetoloveaswell.And
you’reright.That’showitshouldbe.”
“Blipwillloveyou,too.You’llbethecenterofBlip’s—Junior’sworld,”I
whisper.“Childrenlovetheirparentsunconditionally,Christian.That’show
theycomeintotheworld.Programmedtolove.Allbabies…evenyou.Think
aboutthatchildren’sbookyoulikedwhenyouweresmall.Youstillwanted
yourmom.Youlovedher.”
Hefurrowshisbrowandwithdrawshishand,fistingitagainsthischin.
“No,”hewhispers.
“Yes.Youdid.”Mytearsflowfreelynow.“Ofcourseyoudid.Itwasn’tan
option.That’swhyyou’resohurt.”
Hestaresatme,hisexpressionraw.
“That’swhyyou’reabletoloveme,”Imurmur.“Forgiveher.Shehadher
ownworldofpaintodealwith.Shewasashittymother,andyoulovedher.”
Hegazesatme,sayingnothing,eyeshaunted—bymemoriesIcan’t474|Pa
ge
ELJAMES
begintofathom.
Oh,pleasedon’tstoptalking.
Eventuallyhesays,“Iusedtobrushherhair.Shewaspretty.”
“Onelookatyouandnoonewoulddoubtthat.”
“Shewasashittymother.”Hisvoiceisbarelyaudible.Inodandhecloseshis
eyes.“I’mscaredI’llbeashittyfather.”
Istrokehisdearface.OhmyFifty,Fifty,Fifty.“Christian,doyouthinkfor
oneminuteI’dletyoubeashittyfather?”
Heopenshiseyesandgazesatmeforwhatfeelslikeaneternity.Hesmilesas
reliefslowlyilluminateshisface.“No,Idon’tthinkyouwould.”Hecaresses
myfacewiththebackofhisknuckles,gazingatmeinwonder.“God,you’re
strong,Mrs.Grey.Iloveyousomuch.”
Heleansforwardandkissesmyforehead.“Ididn’tknowIcould.”
“Oh,Christian,”Iwhisper,tryingtocontainmyemotions.
“Now,that’stheendofyourbedtimestory.”
“That’ssomebedsidestory…”
Hesmileswistfully,butIthinkhe’srelieved.“How’syourhead?”
“Myhead?”Actually,it’sabouttoexplodewithallyou’vetoldme!
“Doesithurt?”
“No.”
“Good.Ithinkyoushouldsleepnow.”
Sleep!HowcanIsleepafterallthat?
“Sleep,”hesayssternly.“Youneedit.”
Ipout.“Ihaveonequestion.”
“Oh?What?”Heeyesmewarily.
“Whyhaveyousuddenlybecomeall…forthcoming,forwantofabetter
word?”
Hefrowns.
“You’retellingmeallthis,whengettinginformationoutofyouisnormallya
prettyharrowingandtryingexperience.”
“Itis?
“Youknowitis.”
“WhyamIbeingforthcoming?Ican’tsay.Seeingyoupracticallydeadonthe
coldconcrete,maybe.ThefactI’mgoingtobeafather.Idon’tknow.You
saidyouwantedtoknow,andIdon’twantElenatocomebetweenus.She
can’t.She’sthepast,andI’vesaidthattoyousomanytimes.”
475|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Ifshehadn’tmadeapassatyou…wouldyoustillbefriends?”
“That’smorethanonequestion.”
“Sorry.Youdon’thavetotellme.”Iflush.“You’vealreadyvolunteeredmore
thanIeverthoughtyouwould.”
Hisgazesoftens.“No,Idon’tthinkso,butshe’sfeltlikeunfinishedbusiness
sincemybirthday.Shesteppedovertheline,andI’mdone.Please,believe
me.I’mnotgoingtoseeheragain.Yousaidshe’sahardlimitforyou.That’s
atermIunderstand,”hesayswithquietsincerity.
Okay.I’mgoingtoletthisgonow.Mysubconscioussagsintoherarmchair.
Finally!
“Goodnight,Christian.Thankyoufortheenlighteningbedtimestory.”Ilean
overtokisshim,andourlipstouchbriefly,buthepullsbackwhenItryto
deepenthekiss.
“Don’t,”hewhispers.“Iamdesperatetomakelovetoyou.”
“Thendo.”
“No,youneedtorest,andit’slate.Gotosleep.”Heleansoverandswitches
offthebedsidelight,plungingusintodarkness.
“Iloveyouunconditionally,Christian,”ImurmurasIcuddleintohisside.
“Iknow,”hewhispers,andIsensehisshysmile.
~o0o~
Iwakewithastart.Lightisfloodingtheroom,andChristianisnotinbed.I
glanceattheclockandseeit’ssevenfifty-three.Itakeadeepbreathand
winceasmyribssmartthoughnotasbadlyasyesterday.IthinkIcouldgoto
work.Work—Yes.Iwanttogotowork.It’sMonday,andIspentallof
yesterdayloungingaboutinbed.Christianonlyletmegooutbrieflytosee
Ray.Honestly,he’sstillsuchacontrolfreak.Ismilefondly.Mycontrolfreak.
He’sbeenattentiveandlovingandchatty…andhands-offsinceIarrived
home.Iscowl.Iamgoingtohavetodosomethingaboutthis.Myhead
doesn’thurt,thepainaroundmyribshaseased—though,admittedly,laughing
hastobeundertakenwithcaution—butI’mfrustrated.Ithinkthisisthe
longestI’vegonewithoutsexsince…well,sincethefirsttime.Ithinkwe’ve
bothrecoveredourequilibrium.Christianismuch476|Page
ELJAMES
morerelaxed;hislongbedtimestoryseemstohavelaidsomeghoststorest,
forhimandforme.We’llsee.
Ishowerquickly,andonceI’mdry,Ibrowsecarefullythroughmyclothes.I
wantsomethingsexy.SomethingthatmightgalvanizeChristianintoaction.
Whowouldhavethoughtsuchaninsatiablemancouldactuallyexerciseso
muchself-control?Idon’treallywanttodwellonhowChristianlearnedsuch
disciplineoverhisbody.Wehaven’tspokenoftheBitchTrolloncesincehis
confessional.Ihopeweneverdo.Tomeshe’sdeadandburied.
Ichooseanalmostindecentlyshortblackskirtandawhitesilkblousewitha
frill.Islideonthigh-highswithlacytopsandmyblackLouboutinpumps.A
littlemascaraandlipglossforanaturallook,andafteraferociousbrushing,I
leavemyhairloose.Yes.Thisshoulddoit.Christianiseatingatthebreakfast
bar.Hisforkfulofomeletstopsinmidairwhenheseesme.Hefrowns.
“Goodmorning,Mrs.Grey.Goingsomewhere?”
“Work.”Ismilesweetly.
“Idon’tthinkso.”Christiansnortswithamusedderision.“Dr.Singhsaida
weekoff.”
“Christian,Iamnotspendingthedaylounginginbedonmyown.SoImay
aswellgotowork.Goodmorning,Gail.”
“Mrs.Grey.”Mrs.Jonestriestohideasmile.“Wouldyoulikesome
breakfast?”
“Please.”
“Granola?”
“I’dpreferscrambledeggswithwholewheattoast.”
Mrs.JonesbeamsandChristianregistershissurprise.
“Verygood,Mrs.Grey,”Mrs.Jonessays.
“Ana,youarenotgoingtowork.”
“But—”
“No.It’ssimple.Don’targue.”Christianisadamant.Iglareathim,andonly
thendoInoticethathe’sinthesamepajamabottomsandTshirthewas
wearinglastnight.
“Areyougoingtowork?”Iask.
“No.”
AmIgoingcrazy?“ItisMonday,right?”
Hesmiles.“LasttimeIlooked.”
477|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Inarrowmyeyes.“Areyouplayinghooky?”
“I’mnotleavingyouhereonyourowntogetintotrouble.AndDr.Singhsaid
itwouldbeaweekbeforeyoucouldgobacktowork.Remember?”
Islideontoabarstoolbesidehimandhoistmyskirtupalittle.Mrs.Jones
placesacupofteainfrontofme.
“Youlookgood,”Christiansays.Icrossmylegs.“Verygood.Especially
here.”Hetracesafingeroverthebarefleshthatshowsabovemythigh-highs.
Mypulsequickensashisfingerrunsacrossmyskin.“Thisskirtisvery
short,”hemurmurs,vaguedisapprovalinhisvoiceashiseyesfollowhis
finger.
“Isit?Ihadn’tnoticed.”
Christiangazesatme,mouthtwistedinanamusedyetexasperatedsmirk.
“Really,Mrs.Grey?”
Iblush.
“I’mnotsurethislookissuitablefortheworkplace,”hemurmurs.
“Well,sinceI’mnotgoingtowork,that’samootpoint.”
“Moot?”
“Moot,”Imouth.
Christiansmirksagainandresumeseatinghisomelet.“Ihaveabetteridea.”
“Youdo?”
Heglancesatmethroughlonglashes,grayeyesdarkening.Iinhalesharply.
Ohmy.Abouttime.
“WecangoseehowElliot’sgettingonwiththehouse.”
What?Oh!Tease!Ivaguelyrememberweweresupposedtodothatbefore
Raywasinjured.
“I’dloveto.”
“Good.”hegrins.
“Don’tyouhavetowork?”
“No.RosisbackfromTaiwan.Thatallwentwell.Today,everything’sfine.”
“IthoughtyouweregoingtoTaiwan.”
Hesnortsagain.“Ana,youwereinthehospital.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah—oh.SotodayI’mspendingsomequalitytimewithmy478|Page
ELJAMES
wife.”Hesmackshislipstogetherashetakesasipofcoffee.
“Qualitytime?”Ican’tdisguisethehopeinmyvoice.Mrs.Jonesplacesmy
scrambledeggsinfrontofme,againfailingtohidehersmile.
Christiansmirks.“Qualitytime.”Henods.
Iamtoohungrytoflirtanymorewithmyhusband.
“It’sgoodtoseeyoueat,”hemurmurs.Rising,heleansoverandkissesmy
hair.“I’mgoingtoshower.”
“Um…canIcomeandscrubyourback?”Imumblethroughamouthfullof
toastandscrambledegg.
“No.Eat.”
Leavingthebreakfastbar,hetugshisT-shirtoverhishead,treatingmetothe
sightofhisfinelysculpturedshouldersandnakedbackashesauntersoutof
thegreatroom.Istopmid-chew.He’sdoingthisonpurpose.Why?
Rayisingoodspirits.Mr.Rodriguezisvisiting,too,andthey’vebothsettled
downinfrontofthelargenewflat-screenTVinRay’sroom.Isuspect
Christianhadsomethingtodowiththat.Weleavethemwatchingthesports
highlightsfromthepreviousweekend.
Christianisrelaxedonthedrivenorth.He’sbeenthiswayeversince
“thetalk.”It’sasifaweighthasbeenlifted;Mrs.Robinson’sshadowno
longerloomssolargeoverus,maybebecauseI’vedecidedtoletitgo—or
becausehehas,Idon’tknow.ButIfeelclosertohimnowthanIeverhave
before.Perhapsbecausehe’sfinallyconfidedinme.Ihopehecontinuestodo
so.Andhe’smoreacceptingofthebaby,too.Hehasn’tgoneoutandboughta
cribyet,butIhavehighhopes.Igazeathim,drinkinghiminashedrives.He
lookscasual,cool…sexywithhistousledhair,Ray-Bans,pinstripejacket,
whitelinenshirt,andjeans.
Heglancesatme,reachesover,andclaspsmylegabovetheknee,hisfingers
strokinggently.“I’mgladyoudidn’tchange.”
Ididsliponadenimjacketandchangetoflats,butI’mstillwearingtheshort
skirt.Hishandlingersabovemyknee.Iputmyhandonhis.479|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Areyougoingtocontinuetoteaseme?”
“Maybe.”Christiansmiles.
“Why?”
“BecauseIcan.”Hegrins,boyishasever.
“Twocanplayatthatgame,”Iwhisper.
Hisfingersmovetantalizinglyupmythigh.“Bringiton,Mrs.Grey.”Hisgrin
broadens.
Ipickuphishandandputitbackonhisknee.“Well,youcankeepyour
handstoyourself.”
Hesmirks.“Asyouwish,Mrs.Grey.”
Dammit.Thisgameisgoingtobackfireonme.
Christianturnsintothedrivewayofournewhouse.Hestopsatthekeypad
andpunchesinanumber,andtheornatewhitemetalgatesswingopen.We
roarupthetree-linedlane,underleavesthatareablendofgreen,yellow,and
burnishedcopper.Thetallgrassinthemeadowisturninggold,butthereare
stillafewyellowwildflowersdottedamongthegrass.It’sabeautifulday.
Thesunisshining,andthesaltytangoftheSoundisintheairmixedwiththe
scentofthecomingfall.Thisissuchatranquilandbeautifulplace.Andto
thinkwe’regoingtomakeourhomehere.
Thelanecurvesaround,andourhousecomesintoview.Severallargetrucks,
sidesemblazonedwithGREYCONSTRUCTION,areparkedoutfront.The
houseisdeckedinscaffolding,andseveralworkmeninhardhatsarebusyon
theroof.
Christianpullsupoutsidetheporticoandswitchesofftheengine.Icansense
hisexcitement.
“Let’sgofindElliot.”
“Ishehere?”
“Ihopeso.I’mpayinghimenough.”
Isnort,andChristiangrinsaswegetoutofthecar.
“Yo,Bro!”Elliotshoutsfromsomewhere.Webothglancearound.
“Uphere!”He’supontheroof,wavingdownatusandbeamingfromearto
ear.“Abouttimewesawyouhere.Staywhereyouare.I’llberightdown.”
IglanceatChristian,whoshrugs.Afewminuteslater,Elliot480|Page
ELJAMES
appearsatthefrontdoor.
“Hey,Bro.”HeshakesChristian’shand.“Andhowareyou,littlelady?”He
picksmeupandswingsmearound.
“Better,thanks,”Igigglebreathlessly,myribsprotesting.Christianfrownsat
him,butElliotignoreshim.
“Let’sheadovertothesiteoffice.You’llneedoneofthese.”Hetapshishard
hat.
Thehouseisashell.Thefloorsarecoveredinahardfibrousmaterialthat
lookslikeburlap;someoftheoriginalwallshavedisappearedandnewones
havetakentheirplace.Elliotleadsusthrough,explainingwhat’shappening,
whilemen—andafewwomen—workeverywherearoundus.I’mrelievedto
seethestonestaircasewithitsintricateironbalustradeisstillinplaceand
drapedcompletelyinwhitedustsheets.Inthemainlivingarea,thebackwall
hasbeenremovedtomakewayforGia’sglasswall,andworkisbeginningon
theterrace.Inspiteofthemess,theviewisstillstunning.Thenewworkis
sympatheticandinkeepingwiththeold-worldcharmofthehouse…Gia’s
donewell.Elliotpatientlyexplainstheprocessesandgivesusarough
timeframeforeach.He’shopingwecanbeinbyChristmas,although
Christianthinksthisisoptimistic.
Holycow—ChristmasoverlookingtheSound.Ican’twait.Abubbleof
excitementbloomsinsideme.Ihavevisionsofustrimminganenormoustree
whileacopper-hairedlittleboylooksoninwonder.Elliotfinishesourtourin
thekitchen.
“I’llleaveyoutwotoroam.Becareful.Thisisabuildingsite.”
“Sure.Thanks,Elliot,”Christianmurmurs,takingmyhand.
“Happy?”heasksonceElliothasleftusalone.Iamgazingatthisemptyshell
ofaroomandwonderingwhereIwillhangthepepperpicturesthatwe
boughtinFrance.
“Very.Iloveit.You?”
“Ditto.”Hegrins.
“Good.Iwasthinkingofthepepperpicturesinhere.”
Christiannods.“IwanttoputupJosé’sportraitsofyouinthishouse.You
needtodecidewheretheyshouldgo.”
Iflush.“SomewhereIwon’tseethemoften.”
481|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Don’tbelikethat,”hescolds,brushinghisthumbacrossmybottomlip.
“They’remyfavoritepictures.Ilovetheoneinmyoffice.”
“Ihavenoideawhy,”Imurmurandkissthepadofhisthumb.
“Worsethingstodothanlookatyourbeautifulsmilingfaceallday.Hungry?”
heasks.
“Hungryforwhat?”Iwhisper.
Hesmirks,hiseyesdarkening.Hopeanddesireunfurlinmyveins.
“Food,Mrs.Grey,”hemurmurs,andheplantsaswiftkissonmylips.Igive
himmyfauxpoutandsigh.
“Yes.ThesedaysI’malwayshungry.”
“Thethreeofuscanhaveapicnic.”
“Threeofus?Issomeonejoiningus?”
Christiancockshisheadtooneside.“Inaboutsevenoreightmonths.”
Oh…Blip.Igringoofilyathim.
“Ithoughtyoumightliketoeatalfresco.”
“Inthemeadow?”Iask.
Henods.
“Sure.”Igrin.
“Thiswillbeagreatplacetoraiseafamily,”hemurmurs,gazingdownatme.
Family!Morethanone?DareImentionthisnow?
Hespreadshisfingersovermybelly.Holyshit.Iholdmybreathandplace
myhandoverhis.
“It’shardtobelieve,”hewhispers,andforthefirsttimeIhearwonderinhis
voice.
“Iknow.Oh—here,Ihaveevidence.Apicture.”
“Youdo?Baby’sfirstsmile?”
IpullouttheultrasoundofBlipfrommywallet.
“See?”
Christianexaminesitclosely,staringforseveralseconds.
“Oh…Blip.Yeah,Isee.”Hesoundsdistracted,awed.
“Yourchild,”Iwhisper.
“Ourchild,”hecounters.
“Firstofmany.”
“Many?”Christian’seyeswidenwithalarm.
“Atleasttwo.”
482|Page
ELJAMES
“Two?”Heteststheword.“Canwejusttakethisonechildatatime?”
Igrin.“Sure.”
Weheadbackoutsideintothewarmfallafternoon.
“Whenareyougoingtotellyourfolks?”Christianasks.
“Soon,”Imurmur.“IthoughtabouttellingRaythismorning,butMr.
Rodriguezwasthere.”Ishrug.
ChristiannodsandopensthehoodoftheR8.Insideareawickerpicnicbasket
andthetartanblanketweboughtinLondon.
“Come,”hesays,takingthebasketandblanketinonehandandholdingthe
otherouttome.Togetherwewalkintothemeadow.
“Sure,Ros,goforit.”Christianhangsup.That’sthethirdcallhe’staken
duringourpicnic.He’skickedoffhisshoesandsocks,andiswatchingme,
armsonhisraisedknees.Hisjacketliesdiscardedontopofmine,aswe’re
warminthesun.Iliebesidehim,stretchedoutonthetartanpicnicblanket,
bothofussurroundedbytallgoldenandgreengrass,far,farfromthenoiseat
thehouseandhiddenfromthepryingeyesoftheconstructionworkers.We
areinourownbucolichaven.Hefeedsmeanotherstrawberry,andIchew
andsuckitgratefully,gazingathisdarkeningeyes.
“Tasty?”hewhispers.
“Very.”
“Hadenough?”
“Ofstrawberries,yes.”
Hiseyesglitterdangerously,andhegrinsdownatme.“Mrs.Jonespacksa
mightyfinepicnic,”hesays.
“Thatshedoes,”Iwhisper.
Shiftingsuddenly,heliesdownsohisheadisrestingonmybelly.Hecloses
hiseyesandseemscontent.Itanglemyfingersinhishair.Hesighsheavily,
thenscowlsandchecksthenumberonthescreenofhisbuzzingBlackBerry.
Herollshiseyesandtakesthecall.
“Welch,”hesnaps.Hetenses,listensforasecondortwo,thensuddenlybolts
upright.
“24-7…Thanks,”hesaysthroughgrittedteethandhangsup.Thechangein
hismoodisinstant.Goneismyteasing,flirtatioushusband,483|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
replacedbyacold,calculatingmasteroftheuniverse.Henarrowshiseyesfor
amomentthengivesmeacool,chillingsmile.Ashiverrunsdownmyback.
HepicksuphisBlackBerryandpressesaspeeddial.
“Ros,howmuchstockdoweowninLincolnTimber?”Hekneelsup.
Myscalpprickles.Ohno,what’sthis?
“So,consolidatethesharesintoGEH,thenfiretheboard…exceptthe
CEO….Idon’tgiveafuck…Ihearyou,justdoit…thankyou…keepme
informed.”Hehangsup,andgazesatmeimpassivelyforamoment.
Holyshit!Christianismad.
“What’shappened?”
“Linc,”hemurmurs.
“Linc?Elena’sex?”
“Thesame.He’stheonewhopostedHyde’sbail.”
What?Why?IgapeatChristianinshock.Hismouthispressedinahardline.
“Well—he’lllooklikeanidiot,”Imurmur,dismayed.“Imean,Hyde
committedanothercrimewhileoutonbail.”
Christian’seyesnarrowandhesmirks.“Fairpointwellmade,Mrs.Grey.”
“Whatdidyoujustdo?”Ikneelup,facinghim.
“Ifuckedhimover.”
Oh!“Um…thatseemsalittleimpulsive,”Imurmur.
“I’manin-the-momentkindofguy.”
“I’mawareofthat.”
Hiseyesnarrowandhislipsthin.“I’vehadthisplaninmybackpocketfora
while,”hesaysdryly.
Ifrown.“Oh?”
Hepauses,seemingtoweighupsomethinginhismind,thentakesadeep
breath.
“Severalyearsback,whenIwastwenty-one,Lincbeathiswifetoapulp.He
brokeherjaw,herleftarm,andfourofherribsbecauseshewasfuckingme.”
Hiseyesharden.“AndnowIlearnhepostedbailforamanwhotriedtokill
me,kidnappedmysister,andfracturedmywife’sskull.I’vehadenough.I
thinkit’spaybacktime.”
Iblanch.Holyshit.“Fairpointwellmade,Mr.Grey,”Iwhisper.484|Page
ELJAMES
“Ana,thisiswhatIdo.I’mnotusuallymotivatedbyrevenge,butIcannotlet
himgetawaywiththis.WhathedidtoElena…well,sheshouldhave
pressedcharges,butshedidn’t.Thatwasherprerogative.
“Buthe’sseriouslycrossedthelinewithHyde.Linc’smadethispersonalby
goingaftermyfamily.I’mgoingtocrushhim,breakuphiscompanyright
underhisnose,andsellthepiecestothehighestbidder.Iamgoingto
bankrupthim.”
Oh…
“Besides,”Christiansmirks.“We’llmakegoodmoneyoutofthedeal.”
Istareintoblazinggrayeyesthatsoftensuddenly.
“Ididn’tmeantofrightenyou,”hewhispers.
“Youdidn’t,”Ilie.
Hearchesabrow,amused.
“Youjusttookmebysurprise,”Iwhisper,thenswallow.Christianisreally
quitescarysometimes.
Leaningdownhebrusheshislipsagainstmine.“Iwilldoanythingtokeep
yousafe.Keepmyfamilysafe.Keepthislittleonesafe,”hemurmursand
splayshishandoutovermybellyinagentlecaress.Oh…Istopbreathing.
Christiangazesdownatme,hiseyesdarkening.Hislipspartasheinhales
and,inadeliberatemove,thetipsofhisfingersbrushagainstmysex.
Holyshit.Desiredetonateslikeanincendiarydeviceignitingmy
bloodstream.Igrasphishead,myfingersweavingintohishair,andtughard
somylipsfindhis.Hegasps,surprisedbymyassault,givingmytonguefree
passageintohismouth.Hegroansandkissesmeback,hislipsandtongue
hungryformine,andforamomentweconsumeeachother,lostintongues
andlipsandbreathsandsweet,sweetsensationaswerediscovereachother.
Oh,Iwantthisman.It’sbeentoolong.Iwanthimhere,now,intheopenair,
inourmeadow.
“Ana,”hebreathes,entranced,andhishandskimsovermybacksidetothe
hemofmyskirt.Iscrambletounbuttonhisshirt,allfingersandthumbs.
“Whoa,Ana—stop.”Hepullsback,hisjawclenched,andgrabsmyhands.
“No.”MyteethclampgentlyaroundhislowerlipandItug.“No,”I485|Pa
ge
FiftyShadesFreed
murmuragain,gazingathim.Ireleasehim.“Iwantyou.”
Heinhalessharply.He’storn,hisindecisionwritlargeinluminousgrayeyes.
“Please,Ineedyou.”Everyporeofmybeingisbegging.Thisiswhatwedo.
Hegroansindefeatashismouthfindsmine,moldingmylipstohis.One
handcradlesmyheadwhiletheotherskimsdownmybodytomywaist,and
heeasesmeontomybackandstretchesoutbesideme,neverbreakingcontact
withmymouth.
Hepullsback,hoveringovermeandgazingdown.“Youaresobeautiful,
Mrs.Grey.”
Icaresshislovelyface.“Soareyou,Mr.Grey.Insideandout.”
Hefrowns,andmyfingerstracethefurrowinhisbrow.
“Don’tfrown.Youaretome,evenwhenyou’reangry,”Iwhisper.Hegroans
oncemore,andhismouthcapturesmine,pushingmeintothesoftgrass
beneaththeblanket.
“I’vemissedyou,”hewhispers,andhisteethgrazemyjaw.Myheartsoars.
“I’vemissedyou,too.Oh,Christian.”Ifistonehandinhishairandclutchhis
shoulderwiththeother.
Hislipsmovetomythroat,leavingtenderkissesintheirwake,andhis
fingersfollow,deftlyundoingeachbuttonofmyblouse.Tuggingmyblouse
apart,hekissesthesoftswellofmybreasts.Hemurmursappreciatively,low
inhisthroat,andthesoundechoesthroughmybodytomydeepdarkplaces.
“Yourbody’schanging,”hewhispers.Histhumbteasesmynippleuntilit’s
erectandstrainingagainstmybra.“Ilike,”headds.Iwatchhistonguetaste
andtracethelinebetweenmybraandmybreast,tantalizingandteasingme.
Takingmybracupdelicatelybetweenhisteeth,hepullsitdown,freeingmy
breastandnuzzlingmynipplewithhisnoseintheprocess.Itpuckersathis
touchandfromthechillofthegentlefallbreeze.Hislipsclosearoundme,
andhesuckslongandhard.
“Ah!”Igroan,inhalingsharplythenwincingaspainradiatesoutwardfrom
mybruisedribs.
“Ana!”Christianexclaimsandglaresdownatme,concernetchedonhisface.
“ThisiswhatI’mtalkingabout,”headmonishes.“Your486|Page
ELJAMES
lackofself-preservation.Idon’twanttohurtyou.”
“No…don’tstop,”Iwhimper.Hestaresatme,warringwithhimself.
“Please.”
“Here.”Abruptlyhemoves,andI’msittingastridehim,myshortskirtnow
buncheduparoundmyhips.Hishandsglideoverthetopofmythigh-highs.
“There.That’sbetter,andIcanenjoytheview.”Hereachesupandhookshis
longindexfingerintomyotherbracup,freeingthatbreast,too.Hegrasps
bothofmybreasts,andIthrowmyheadback,pushingthemintohis
welcome,experthands.Heteasesme,tuggingandrollingmynipplesuntilI
cryout,thensitsupsowe’renosetonose,hisgreedygrayeyesonmine.He
kissesme,hisfingersstillteasingme.Iscrambleforhisshirt,undoingthe
firsttwobuttons,andit’slikesensoryoverload—Iwanttobekissinghim
everywhere,undressinghim,makinglovewithhimallatonce.
“Hey—”Hegentlygraspsmyheadandpullsback,eyesdarkandfullof
sensualpromise.“There’snorush.Takeitslow.Iwanttosavoryou.”
“Christian,it’sbeensolong.”I’mpanting.
“Slow,”hewhispers,andit’sacommand.Hekissestherightcornerofmy
mouth.“Slow.”Hekissestheleftcorner.“Slow,baby.”Hetugsmybottomlip
withhisteeth.“Let’stakethisslow.”Heunfurlshisfingersinmyhair,
keepingmeinplaceashistongueinvadesmymouth,seeking,tasting,
calming…inflaming.Oh,mymancankiss.Icaresshisface,myfingers
movingtentativelydowntohischinthentohisthroat,andIstartagainonthe
buttonsofhisshirt,takingmytime,ashecontinuestokissme.SlowlyIpull
hisshirtapart,myfingerstrailingoverhisclavicles,feelingtheirwayacross
hiswarm,silkyskin.Ipushhimgentlybackuntilhe’slyingbeneathme.
Sittingup,Igazedownathim,awarethatI’msquirmingagainsthisgrowing
erection.Hmm.Itracemyfingersacrosshislipstohisjawthendownhis
neck,overhisAdam’sappletothatlittledipatthebaseofhisthroat.My
beautifulman.Ileandown,andmykissesfollowthetipsofmyfingers.My
teethgrazehisjawandkisshisthroat.Hecloseshiseyes.
“Ah.”Hegroansandtiltshisheadback,givingmeeasieraccesstothebaseof
histhroat,hismouthslackandopeninsilentveneration.487|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Christianlostandarousedisjustsoexhilarating…andsoarousingtome.
Mytonguetrailsdownhissternum,twirlingthroughhischesthair.Hmm.He
tastessogood.Hesmellssogood.Intoxicating.Ikissfirstone,thentwoof
hissmallroundscars,andhegraspsmyhips,somyfingershaltonhischest
asIgazedownathim.Hisbreathingisharsh.
“Youwantthis?Here?”hebreathes,hiseyeshoodedwithaheady
combinationofloveandlust.
“Yes,”Imurmur,andmylipsandtonguegrazeacrosshischesttohisnipple.I
pullandrollitgentlywithmyteeth.
“Oh,Ana,”hewhispersandcirclingmywaistheliftsme,tuggingathis
buttonandflysohespringsfree.Hesitsmedownagain,andIpushagainst
him,delightinginthefeelofhimhotandhardbeneathme.Herunshishands
upmythighs,pausingwheremythigh-highsstopandmyfleshbegins,his
handsrunningsmallteasingcirclesatthetopofmythighssothatthetipsof
histhumbstouchme…touchmewhereIwanttobetouched.Igasp.
“Ihopeyou’renotattachedtoyourunderwear,”hemurmurs,hiseyeswild
andbright.Hisfingerstracetheelasticalongmybellythenslideinside,
teasingme,beforegrabbingmypantiestightlyandpushinghisthumbs
throughthedelicatematerial.Mypantiesdisintegrate.Hishandssplayouton
mythighs,andhisthumbsbrushagainstmysexoncemore.Heflexeshiships
sohiserectionrubsagainstme.
“Icanfeelhowwetyouare.”Hisvoiceistingedwithcarnalappreciation,and
hesuddenlysitsup,hisarmaroundmywaistagain,sowe’renosetonose.He
rubshisnoseagainstmine.
“We’regoingtotakethisslow,Mrs.Grey.Iwanttofeelallofyou.”
Heliftsme,andwithexquisite,frustrating,slowease,lowersmeontohim.I
feeleachblessedinchofhimfillme.
“Ah—”ImoanincoherentlyasIreachouttoclasphisarms.Itrytolift
myselfoffhimforsomewelcomefriction,butheholdsmeinplace.
“Allofme,”hewhispers,andtiltshispelvis,pushinghimselfintomeallthe
way.Ithrowmyheadbackandletoutastrangledcryofpurepleasure.
“Letmehearyou,”hemurmurs.“No—don’tmove,justfeel.”
Iopenmyeyes,mymouthfrozeninasilentAh!Andhe’sgazingatme,
hooded,licentiousgrayeyesintodazedblue.Heshifts,rollinghis488|Pag
e
ELJAMES
hips,butholdsmeinplace.
Igroan.Hislipsareatmythroat,kissingme.
“Thisismyfavoriteplace.Buriedinyou,”hemurmursagainstmyskin.
“Please,move,”Iplead.
“Slow,Mrs.Grey.”Heflexeshishipsagainandpleasureradiatesthroughme.
Icuphisfaceandkisshim,consuminghim.
“Loveme.Please,Christian.”
Histeethskimmyjawuptomyear.“Go,”hewhispers,andheliftsmeup
anddown.Myinnergoddessisunleashed,andIpushhimdownonthe
groundandstarttomove,savoringthefeelingofhiminsideme…ridinghim
…ridinghimhard.Withhishandsaroundmywaisthematchesmyrhythm.I
havemissedthis…theheadyfeelingofhimbeneathme,insideme…the
sunonmyback,thesweetsmelloffallintheair,thegentleautumnalbreeze.
It’saheadyfusionofsenses:touch,taste,smell,andthesightofmybeloved
husbandbeneathme.
“Oh,Ana,”hegroans.Eyesclosed,headback,mouthopen.Ah…Ilovethis.
Andinside,I’mbuilding…building…climbing…higher.Christian’shands
movetomythighs,anddelicatelyhisthumbspressattheirapex,andI
explodearoundhimoverandoverandoverandover,andIcollapse,sprawled
onhischestashecriesoutinturn,lettinggoandcallingoutmynamewith
loveandjoy.
Hecuddlesmeagainsthischest,cradlingmyhead.Hmm.Closingmyeyes,I
savorthefeelofhisarmsaroundme.Myhandisonhischest,feelingthe
steadybeatofhisheartasitslowsandcalms.Ikissandnuzzlehim,and
marvelbrieflythatnotlongagohewouldnothaveletmedothis.
“Better?”hewhispers.Iraisemyhead.He’sgrinningbroadly.
“Much.You?”Myansweringgrinreflectshis.
“I’vemissedyou,Mrs.Grey.”He’sseriousforamoment.
“Me,too.”
“Nomoreheroics,eh?”
“No,”Ipromise.
“Youshouldalwaystalktome,”hewhispers.
“Backatyou,Grey.”
489|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Hesmirks.“Fairpointwellmade.I’lltry.”Hekissesmyhair.
“Ithinkwe’regoingtobehappyhere,”Iwhisper,closingmyeyesagain.
“Yep.You,meand…Blip.Howdoyoufeel,incidentally?”
“Fine.Relaxed.Happy.”
“Good.”
“You?”
“Yeah,allthosethings,”hemurmurs.
Ilookupathim,tryingtogaugehisexpression.
“What?”heasks.
“Youknow,you’reverybossywhenwehavesex.”
“Areyoucomplaining?”
“No.I’mjustwondering…yousaidyoumissedit.”
Hestills,gazingatme.“Sometimes,”hewhispers.
Oh.“Well,we’llhavetoseewhatwecandoaboutthat,”Imurmurandkiss
himlightlyonhislips,curlingaroundhimlikeavine.Imagesofustogether,
intheplayroom;theTallis,thetable,onthecross,shackledtothebed…I
lovehiskinkyfuckery—ourkinkyfuckery.Yes.Icandothatstuff.Icando
thatforhim,withhim.Icandothatforme.MyskintinglesasIremember
theridingcrop.
“Iliketoplay,too,”Imurmur,andglancingup,I’mtreatedtohisshysmile.
“Youknow,I’dreallyliketotestyourlimits,”hewhispers.
“Mylimitsforwhat?”
“Pleasure.”
“Oh,IthinkI’dlikethat.”Myinnergoddessdropsintoadeadfaint.
“Well,maybewhenwegethome,”hewhispers,leavingthatpromisehanging
betweenus.
Inuzzlehimoncemore.Ilovehimso.
~o0o~
It’sbeentwodayssinceourpicnic.Twodayssincethepromiseofwell,
maybewhenwegethomewasmade.ChristianisstilltreatingmelikeI’m
madeofglass.Hestillwon’tletmegotowork,soIhavebeenworkingfrom
home.IputthestackofquerylettersI’vebeenreadingasideonmydeskand
sigh.ChristianandIhaven’tbeenbackinthe490|Page
ELJAMES
playroomsinceIsafeworded.Andhe’ssaidhemissesit.Well,sodoI…
especiallynowthathewantstoexploremylimits.Iflush,thinkingwhatthat
couldpossiblyentail.Iglanceatthebilliardtable…YesIcan’twaitto
explorethose.
Mythoughtsareinterruptedbysoft,lyricalmusicthatfillstheapartment.
Christianisplayingthepiano;notoneofhisusuallamentsbutasweet
melody,ahopefulmelody—onethatIrecognize,buthaveneverheardhim
play.
ItiptoetothearchwayofthegreatroomandwatchChristianatthepiano.It’s
dusk.Theskyisanopulentpink,andthelightisreflectedoffhisburnished
copperhair.Helookshisbeautifulbreathtakingself,concentratingashe
plays,unawareofmypresence.He’sbeensoforthcomingoverthelastfew
days,soattentive—offeringsmallinsightsintohisday,histhoughts,his
plans.It’sasifhe’sbreachedadamandstartedtalking.
Iknowhe’llcometocheckonmeinafewminutes,anditgivesmeanidea.
Excited,Istealaway,hopingthathestillhasn’tnoticedme,andracetoour
room,strippingoffmyclothesasIgo,untilI’mwearingnothingbutpaleblue
lacepanties.Ifindapalebluecamisoleandslipintoitquickly.Itwillhide
mybruise.Divingintothecloset,IpulloutChristian’sfadedjeans—his
playroomjeans,myfavoritejeans—fromthedrawer.FrommybedsidetableI
pickupmyBlackBerry,foldthejeansneatly,andkneelbythebedroomdoor.
Thedoorisajar,andIcanhearthestrainsofanotherpiece,oneIdon’tknow.
Butit’sanotherhopefultune;it’slovely.QuicklyItypeanemail.
From:AnastasiaGrey
Subject:MyHusband’sPleasure
Date:September21,201120:45
To:ChristianGrey
Sir
Iawaityourinstructions.
Yoursalways
491|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Mrs.Gx
Ipresssend.
Afewmomentslaterthemusicstopsabruptly.Myheartlurchesandstarts
pounding.IwaitandwaitandeventuallymyBlackBerrybuzzes.
From:ChristianGrey
Subject:MyHusband’sPleasure<–lovethistitlebabyDate:September21,
201120:48
To:AnastasiaGrey
Mrs.G
I’mintrigued.I’lcomefindyou.
Beready.
ChristianGrey
AnticipativeCEO,GreyEnterprisesHoldingsInc.
Beready!MyheartstartstopoundandIbegintocount.Thirtysevenseconds
laterthedooropens.I’mlookingdownathisbarefeetastheypauseonthe
threshold.Hmm.Hesaysnothing.Forageshesaysnothing.Ohshit.Iresist
theurgetolookupathimandkeepmyeyesdowncast.
Finally,hereachesdownandpicksuphisjeans.Hestayssilentbutheadsinto
thewalk-inclosetwhileIremainstock-still.Ohmy…thisisit.Myheartis
thundering,andIrelishtherushofadrenalinethatspikesthroughmybody.I
squirmasmyexcitementbuilds.Whatwillhedotome?Afewmomentslater
he’sback,wearingthejeans.
“Soyouwanttoplay?”hemurmurs.
“Yes.”
Hesaysnothing,andIriskaquickglance…uphisjeans,hisdenimclad
thighs,thesoftbulgeathisfly,theopenbuttonatthewaist,hishappytrail,
hisnavel,hischiseledabdomen,hischesthair,hisgrayeyesblazing,andhis
headcockedtooneside.He’sarchingan492|Page
ELJAMES
eyebrow.Ohshit.
“Yeswhat?”hewhispers.
Oh.
“Yes,Sir.”
Hiseyessoften.“Goodgirl,”hemurmurs,andhecaressesmyhead.
“Ithinkwe’dbettergetyouupstairsnow,”headds.Myinsidesliquefy,and
mybellyclenchesinthatdeliciousway.
HetakesmyhandandIfollowhimthroughtheapartmentandupthestairs.
Outsidetheplayroomdoor,hehaltsandbendsandkissesmegentlybefore
graspingmyhairhard.
“Youknow,you’retoppingfromthebottom,”hemurmursagainstmylips.
“What?”Idon’tunderstandwhathe’stalkingabout.
“Don’tworry.I’lllivewithit,”hewhispers,amused,andherunshisnose
alongmyjawandgentlybitesmyear.“Onceinside,kneel,likeI’veshown
you.”
“Yes…Sir.”
Hegazesdownatme,eyesshiningwithlove,wonder,andwickedthoughts.
Jeez…LifeisnevergoingtobeboringwithChristian,andI’minthisforthe
longhaul.Ilovethisman:myhusband,mylover,fatherofmychild,my
sometimesDominant…myFiftyShades.
493|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Epilogue
TheBigHouse,May2014
Ilieonourtartanpicnicblanketandgazeupattheclear,blue,summersky,
myviewframedbymeadowflowersandtallgreengrasses.Theheatofthe
afternoonsummersunwarmsmyskin,mybonesandmybelly,andIrelax,
mybodyturningtoJell-O.Thisiscomfortable.Hellno…thisiswonderful.I
savorthemoment,amomentofpeace,amomentofpureandutter
contentment.Ishouldfeelguiltyforfeelingthisjoy,thiscompleteness,butI
don’t.Liferighthererightnowisgood,andI’velearnedtoappreciateitand
liveinthemomentlikemyhusband.Ismileandsquirmasmyminddriftsto
thedeliciousmemoryoflastnightatourhomeinEscala…
~o0o~
Thestrandsofthefloggerskimacrossmyswollenbellyatanaching,
languorouspace.
“Haveyouhadenoughyet,Ana?”Christianwhispersinmyear.
“Oh,please.”Ibeg,pullingontherestraintsabovemyheadasIstand
blindfoldedandtetheredtothegridintheplayroom.Theflogger’ssweetsting
bitesintomybehind.
“Pleasewhat?”
Igasp.“Please,Sir.”
Christianplaceshishandovermyringingskinandrubsgently.
“There.There.There.”Hiswordsaresoft.Hishandmovessouthandaround,
andhisfingersslideinsideme.
Igroan.
“Mrs.Grey,”hebreathes,andhisteethpullatmyearlobe.“You’resoready.”
Hisfingersslideinandoutofme,hittingthatspot,thatsweet,sweetspot
again.Thefloggerclattersontothefloorandhishandmovesover494|Pag
e
ELJAMES
mybellyanduptomybreasts.Itense.Theyaresensitive.
“Hush,”Christiansays,cuppingone,andhegentlybrusheshisthumbover
mynipple.
“Ah.”
Hisfingersaregentleandenticing,andpleasurespiralsoutfrommybreast,
down,down…deepdown.Itiltmyheadback,pushingmynippleintohis
palm,andmoanoncemore.
“Iliketohearyou,”Christianwhispers.Hiserectionisatmyhip,thebuttons
ofhisflypressingintomyfleshashisfingerscontinuetheirrelentlessassault:
in,out,in,out—keepingarhythm.“ShallImakeyoucomelikethis?”he
asks.
“No.”
Hisfingersstopmovinginsideme.
“Really,Mrs.Grey?Isituptoyou?”Hisfingerstightenaroundmynipple.
“No…No,Sir.”
“That’sbetter.”
“Ah.Please,”Ibeg.
“Whatdoyouwant,Anastasia?”
“You.Always.”
Heinhalessharply.
“Allofyou,”Iadd,breathless.
Heeaseshisfingersoutofme,pullsmearoundtofacehim,andremovesthe
blindfold.Iblinkupintodarkeninggrayeyesthatburnintomine.Hisindex
fingerstracemybottomlip,andhepusheshisindexandmiddlefingersinto
mymouth,lettingmetastethesaltytangofmyarousal.
“Suck,”hewhispers.Iswirlmytonguearoundandbetweenhisfingers.
Hmm…evenItastegoodonhisfingers.
Hishandsskimupmyarmstothecuffsabovemyhead,andheunclipsthem,
freeingme.TurningmearoundsoI’mfacingthewall,hetugsonmybraid,
pullingmeintohisarms.Heanglesmyheadtoonesideandskimshislipsup
mythroattomyearwhileholdingmeflushagainsthim.
“Iwantinyourmouth.”Hisvoiceissoftandseductive.Mybody,ripeand
ready,clenchesdeepinside.Thepleasureissweetandsharp.495|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
Imoan.Turningtofacehim,Ipullhisheaddowntomineandkisshimhard,
mytongueinvadinghismouth,tastingandsavoringhim.Hegroans,places
hishandsonmybehindandtugsmeagainsthim,butonlymypregnantbelly
toucheshim.Ibitehisjawandtrailkissesdownhisthroatandrunmyfingers
downtohisjeans.Hetiltshisheadback,exposingmoreofhisthroattome,
andIrunmytonguedowntohischestandthroughhischesthair.
“Ah.”
Itugthewaistbandofhisjeans,thebuttonspopping,andhegraspsmy
shouldersasIsinktomykneesinfrontofhim.AsIgazeupathimthrough
mylashes,hestaresdownatme.Hiseyesaredark,hislipsparted,andhe
inhalesdeeplywhenIfreehimandensnarehimwithmymouth.Ilovedoing
thistoChristian.Watchinghimcomeapart,hearinghisbreathhitch,andthe
softmoanshemakesdeepinhisthroat.Iclosemyeyesandsuckhard,
pressingdownonhim,relishinghistasteandhisbreathlessgasp.Hegrasps
myhead,stillingme,andIsheathmyteethwithmylipsandpushhimdeeper
intomymouth.
“Openyoureyesandlookatme,”heorders,hisvoicelow.Blazingeyesmeet
mineandheflexeshiships,fillingmymouthtothebackofmythroatthen
withdrawingquickly.HepushesintomeagainandIreachuptograbhim.He
stopsandholdsmeinplace.
“Don’ttouchorI’llcuffyouagain.Ijustwantyourmouth,”hegrowls.
Ohmy.Likethatisit?Iputmyhandsbehindmybackandgazeupathim
innocently,hiscockinmymouth.
“Goodgirl,”hesays,smirkingdownatme,hisvoicehoarse.Heeasesback,
andholdingmegentlybutfirmly,hepushesintomeagain.
“Youhavesuchafuckablemouth,Mrs.Grey.”Hecloseshiseyesandeases
intomymouthasIsqueezehimbetweenmylips,runningmytongueover
andaroundhim.Itakehimdeeperandwithdraw,againandagainandagain,
theairhissingbetweenhisteeth.
“Ah!Stop,”hesays,andhepullsoutofme,leavingmewantingmore.He
graspsmyshouldersandpullsmetomyfeet.Grabbingmybraid,hekisses
mehard,hispersistenttonguegreedyandgivingatonce.Suddenlyhe
releasesme,andbeforeIknowit,he’sliftedmeintohisarmsandmovedover
tothefour-poster.Gently,helaysmedown496|Page
ELJAMES
sothatmybehindisjustontheedgeofthebed.
“Wrapyourlegsaroundmywaist,”heorders.IdoasI’mbidandpullhim
towardme.Heleansdown,handseithersideofmyhead,andstillstanding,
veryslowlyeaseshimselfintome.
Oh,thatfeelssogood.Iclosemyeyesandrevelinhisslowpossession.
“Okay?”heasks,hisconcernevidentinhistone.
“Oh,God,Christian.Yes.Yes.Please.”Itightenmylegsaroundhimand
pushagainsthim.Hegroans.Iclasphisarms,andheflexeshishipsslowlyat
first,in,out.
“Christian,please.Harder—Iwon’tbreak.”
Hegroansandstartstomove,reallymove,poundingintomeagainandagain.
Oh,it’sheavenly.
“Yes,”Igasp,tighteningmyholdonhimasIstarttobuild…Hemoans,
grindingintomewithreneweddetermination…andI’mclose.Oh,please.
Don’tstop.
“Comeon,Ana,”hegroansthroughgrittedteeth,andIexplodearoundhim,
myorgasmgoingonandonandon.IcallouthisnameandChristianstills,
groaningloudly,asheclimaxesinsideme.
“Ana,”hecries.
Christianliesbesideme,hishandcaressingmybelly,hislongfingerssplayed
outwide.
“How’smydaughter?”
“She’sdancing.”Ilaugh.
“Dancing?Ohyes!Wow.Icanfeelher.”HegrinsasBlipTwosomersaults
insideme.
“Ithinkshelikessexalready.”
Christianfrowns.“Really?”hesaysdryly.Hemovessohislipsareagainst
mybump.“There’llbenoneofthatuntilyou’rethirty,younglady.”
Igiggle.“Oh,Christian,youaresuchahypocrite.”
“No,I’mananxiousfather.”Hegazesupatme,hisbrowfurrowedbetraying
hisanxiety.
“You’reawonderfulfather,asIknewyouwouldbe.”Icaresshislovelyface,
andhegivesmehisshysmile.
497|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Ilikethis,”hemurmursstrokingthenkissingmybelly.“There’smoreof
you.”
Ipout.“Idon’tlikemoreofme.”
“It’sgreatwhenyoucome.”
“Christian!”
“AndI’mlookingforwardtothetasteofbreastmilkagain.”
“Christian!Youaresuchakinky—”
Heswoopsonmesuddenly,kissingmehard,throwinghislegovermine,and
grabbingmyhandssotheyareabovemyhead.“Youlovethekinkyfuckery,”
hewhispers,andherunshisnosedownmine.Igrin,caughtinhisinfectious,
wickedsmile.“Yes,Ilovethekinkyfuckery.AndIloveyou.Verymuch.”
~o0o~
Ijerkawake,wokenbyahigh-pitchedsquealofdelightfrommyson,and
eventhoughIcan’tseehimorChristian,Igrinlikeanidiotwithmyglee.Ted
haswokenfromhisnap,andheandChristianarerompingnearby.Ilie
quietly,stillmarvelingatChristian’scapacityforplay.Hispatiencewith
Teddyisextraordinary—muchmoresothanwithme.Isnort.Butthen,that’s
howitshouldbe.Andmybeautifullittleboy,theappleofhismotherand
father’seyes,knowsnofear.Christian,ontheotherhand,isstillfartoo
overprotective—ofbothofus.Mysweet,mercurial,controllingFifty.
“Let’sfindMommy.She’shereinthemeadowsomewhere.”
TedsayssomethingIdon’thear,andChristianlaughsfreely,happily.It’sa
magicalsound,filledwithhispaternaljoy.Ican’tresist.Istruggleupontomy
elbowstospyonthemfrommyhidingplaceinthelonggrass.
ChristianisswingingTedaroundandaround,makinghimsquealoncemore
indelight.Hestops,launcheshimhighintotheair––Istopbreathing––then
hecatcheshim.TedshriekswithchildishabandonandIbreatheasighof
relief.Ohmylittleman,mydarlinglittleman,alwaysonthego.
“‘Gain,Daddy!”hesqueals.Christianobliges,andmyheartleapsintomy
mouthoncemoreashetossesTeddyintotheairthencatcheshimagain,
clutchinghimclose.ChristiankissesTed’scopper-colored498|Page
ELJAMES
hair,andblowsakissonhischeek.Teddyisoblivious.Hesquirms,pushing
Christian’schestandwantingoutofhisarms.Grinning,Christiansetshimon
theground.
“Let’sfindMommy.She’shidinginthegrass.”
Tedbeams,enjoyingthegame,andlooksaroundthemeadow.Grasping
Christian’shand,hepointstosomewhereI’mnot,anditmakesmegiggle.I
liebackdownquickly,delightinginthisgame.
“Ted,IheardMommy.Didyouhearher?”
“Mommy!”
Igiggle-snortatTed’simperioustone.Jeez—solikehisdad,andhe’sonly
two.
“Teddy!”Icallback,gazinguptheskywitharidiculousgrinonmyface.
“Mommy!”
AlltoosoonIheartheirfootstepstramplingthroughthemeadow,andfirst
TedthenChristianburststhroughthelonggrass.
“Mommy!”Tedscreechesasifhe’sfoundthelosttreasureoftheSierra
Madreandheleapsontome.
“Hey,babyboy!”Icradlehimagainstmeandkisshischubbycheek.He
gigglesandkissesmeinreturn,thenstrugglesoutofmyarms.
“Hello,Mommy.”Christiansmilesdownatme.
“Hello,Daddy.”Igrinupathim.Heleansdown,picksTedup,andsitsdown
besidemewithoursoninhislap.
“GentlywithMommy,”headmonishesTed.Ismirk—theironyisnotloston
me.Fromhispocket,ChristianproduceshisBlackBerryandgivesittoTed.
Thiswillprobablywinusfiveminutes’peace,maximum.Teddystudiesit,his
littlebrowfurrowed.Helookssoserious,blueeyesconcentratinghard,just
likehisdaddydoeswhenhereadshise-mails.ChristiannuzzlesTed’shair,
andmyheartswellstolookatthemboth.Twopeasinapod:mysonsitting
quietly—forafewmomentsatleast—inmyhusband’slap.Mytwofavorite
meninthewholeworld.
Ofcourse,Tedisthemostbeautifulandtalentedchildontheplanet,butthen
IamhismothersoIwouldthinkthat.AndChristianis…well,Christianis
justhimself.InwhiteT-shirtandjeans,helooksashotasusual.WhatdidIdo
towinsuchaprize?
499|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Youlookwell,Mrs.Grey.”
“Asdoyou,Mr.Grey.”
“Isn’tMommypretty?”ChristianwhispersinTed’sear.Tedswatshimaway,
moreinterestedinDaddy’sBlackBerry.
Igiggle.“Youcan’tgetaroundhim.”
“Iknow.”ChristiangrinsandkissesTed’shair.“Ican’tbelievehe’llbetwo
tomorrow.”Histoneiswistful.Reachingacross,hespreadshishandovermy
bump.“Let’shavelotsofchildren,”hesays.
“Onemoreatleast.”Igrin,andhecaressesmybelly.
“Howismydaughter?”
“She’sgood.Asleep,Ithink.”
“Hello,Mr.Grey.Hi,Ana.”
WebothturntoseeSophie,Taylor’sten-year-olddaughter,appearoutofthe
longgrass.
“Soeee,”Tedsquealswithdelightedrecognition.Hestrugglesoutof
Christian’slap,discardingtheBlackBerry.
“IhavesomepopsiclesfromGail,”Sophiesays.“CanIgiveonetoTed?”
“Sure.”Isay.Ohdear,thisisgoingtobemessy.
“Pop!”TedholdsouthishandsandSophiepassesonetohim.It’sdripping
already.
“Here—letMommysee.”Isitup,takethepopsiclefromTed,andquickly
slipitintomymouth,lickingofftheexcessjuice.Hmm…cranberry,cool
anddelicious.
“Mine!”Tedprotests,hisvoiceringingwithindignation.
“Hereyougo.”Ihandhimbackaslightlylessrunnypopsicle,anditgoes
straightintohismouth.Hegrinsatme.
“CanTedandIgoforawalk?”Sophieasks.
“Sure.”
“Don’tgotoofar,”Christianadds.
“No,Mr.Grey.”Sophie’shazeleyesarewideandserious.Ithinkshe’salittle
frightenedofChristian.Sheholdsherhandout,andTeddytakesitwillingly.
Theytrudgeawaytogetherthroughthelonggrass.Christianwatchesthem.
“They’llbefine,Christian.Whatharmcouldcometothemhere?”
Hefrownsatmemomentarily,andIcrawloverandintohislap.
“Besides,TediscompletelysmittenwithSophie.”
500|Page
ELJAMES
Christiansnortsandnuzzlesmyhair.“She’sadelightfulchild.”
“Sheis.Sopretty,too.Ablondeangel.”
Christianstillsandplaceshishandsonmybelly.“Girls,eh?”
There’sahintoftrepidationinhisvoice.Icurlmyhandbehindhishead.
“Youdon’thavetoworryaboutyourdaughterforatleastanotherthree
months.Ihavehercoveredhere.Okay?”
Hekissesmebehindmyearandscrapeshisteetharoundtheedgetothelobe.
“Whateveryousay,Mrs.Grey.”Thenhebitesme.Iyelp.
“Ienjoyedlastnight,”hesays.“Weshoulddothatmoreoften.”
“Me,too.”
“Andwecould,ifyoustoppedworking…”
Irollmyeyesandhetightenshisarmsaroundmeandgrinsintomyneck.
“AreyourollingyoureyesatmeMrs.Grey?”Histhreatisimplicitbut
sensual,makingmesquirm,butaswe’reinthemiddleofthemeadowwith
thekidsnearby…Iignorehisinvitation.
“GreyPublishinghasanauthorintheNewYorkTimesbestsellers—
BoyceFox’ssalesarephenomenal,thee-booksideofourbusinesshas
exploded,andIfinallyhavetheteamIwantaroundme.”
“Andyou’remakingmoneyinthesedifficulttimes,”Christianadds,hisvoice
reflectinghispride.“But…Ilikeyoubarefootandpregnantandinmy
kitchen.”
IleanbacksoIcanseehisface.Hegazesdownatme,eyesbright.
“Ilikethat,too,”Imurmur.Leaningdown,hekissesme,hishandsstill
spreadacrossmybump.
Seeinghe’sinagoodmood,Idecidetobroachadelicatesubject.
“Haveyouthoughtanymoreaboutmysuggestion?”Iask.Hestills.“Ana,the
answerisno.”
“ButEllaissuchalovelyname.”
“Iamnotcallingmydaughteraftermymother.No.Endofdiscussion.”
“Areyousure?”
“Yes.”Graspingmychin,hegazesearnestlydownatme,radiating
exasperation.“Ana,giveitup.Idon’twantmydaughtertaintedbymypast.”
501|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
“Okay.I’msorry.”Shit…Idon’twanttoangerhim.
“That’sbetter.Stoptryingtofixit,”hemutters.“YougotmetoadmitIloved
her,youdraggedmetohergrave.Enough.”
Ohno.Itwistinhislaptostraddlehimandgrasphisheadinmyhands.
“I’msorry.Really.Don’tbeangrywithme,please.”Leaningforward,Ikiss
him.Thenkissthecornerofhismouth.Afterabeat,hepointstotheother
corner,andIsmileandkissit.Hepointstohisnose.Ikissthat.Hegrinsand
placeshishandsonmybackside.
“Oh,Mrs.Grey—whatamIgoingtodowithyou?”
“I’msureyou’llthinkofsomething,”Imurmur.Hegrinsand,twisting
suddenly,hepushesmedownontotheblanket.
“HowaboutIdoitnow?”hewhisperswithasalacioussmile.
“Christian!”Igasp.
Suddenlythere’sahigh-pitchedcryfromTed.Christianleapstohisfeetwith
apanther’seasygraceandracestowardthesourceofthesound.Ifollowata
moreleisurelypace.Secretly,I’mnotasconcernedasChristian—itwasnota
crythatwouldmakemetakethestairstwoatatimetofindoutwhat’swrong.
ChristianswingsTeddyupintohisarms.Ourlittleboyiscryinginconsolably
andpointingtotheground,wheretheremainsofhispopsiclelieinasoggy
mess,meltingintothegrass.
“Hedroppedit.”Sophiesays,sadly.“Hecouldhavehadmine,butI’ve
finishedit.”
“Oh,Sophiedarling,don’tworry.”Istrokeherhair.
“Mommy!”Tedwails,holdinghishandsouttome.Christianreluctantlylets
himgoasIreachforhim.
“There,there.”
“Pop,”hesobs.
“Iknow,babyboy.We’llgoseeMrs.Taylorandgetanotherone.”Ikisshis
head…oh,hesmellssogood.Hesmellsofmybabyboy.
“Pop,”hesniffs.Itakehishandandkisshisstickyfingers.
“Icantasteyourpopsiclehereonyourfingers.”
Tedstopscryingandexamineshishand.
“Putyourfingersinyourmouth.”
Hedoes.
“Pop!”
502|Page
ELJAMES
“Yes.Popsicle.”
Hegrinsatme.Mymercuriallittleboy,justlikehisdad.Well,atleasthehas
anexcuse—he’sonlytwo.
“ShallwegoseeMrs.Taylor?”Henods,smilinghisbeautifulbabysmile.
“WillyouletDaddycarryyou?”Heshakeshisheadandwrapshisarms
aroundmyneck,huggingmetightly,hisfacepressedagainstmythroat.
“IthinkDaddywantstotastepopsicle,too,”IwhisperinTed’slittleear.Ted
frownsatme,thenlooksathishandandholdsitouttoChristian.Christian
smilesandputsTed’sfingersinhismouth.
“Hmm…tasty.”
Tedgigglesandreachesup,wantingChristiantoholdhim.Christiangrinsat
meandtakesTedinhisarms,settlinghimonhiship.
“Sophie,where’sGail?”
“Shewasinthebighouse.”
IglanceatChristian.Hissmilehasturnedbittersweet,andIwonderwhathe’s
thinking.
“You’resogoodwithhim,”hemurmurs.
“Thislittleone?”IruffleTed’shair.“It’sonlybecauseIhavethemeasureof
youGreymen.”Ismirkatmyhusband.
Helaughs.“Yes,youdo,Mrs.Grey.”
TeddysquirmsoutofChristian’shold.Nowhewantstowalk,mystubborn
littleman.Itakeoneofhishands,andhisdadtakestheother,andtogetherwe
swingTeddybetweenusallthewaybacktothehouse,Sophieskippingalong
infrontofus.
IwavetoTaylorwho,onarareday-off,isoutsidethegarage,dressedinjeans
andawife-beater,ashetinkerswithanoldmotorbike.
~o0o~
IpauseoutsidethedoortoTed’sroomandlistenasChristianreadstoTed.“I
amtheLorax!Ispeakforthetrees…”2
WhenIpeekin,TeddyisfastasleepwhileChristiancontinuestoread.He
glancesupwhenIopenthedoorandclosesthebook.Heputshisfingertohis
lips,andswitchesonthebabymonitorbesideTed’s2Dr.Seuss.TheLorax.
NewYork:RandomHouse,1971.503|Page
FiftyShadesFreed
crib.Leaningoverthecrib,headjustsTed’sbedclothes,strokeshischeek,
thenstraightensup,andtiptoesovertomewithoutmakingasound.It’shard
nottogiggleathim.
Outinthehallway,Christianpullsmeintohisembrace.
“God,Ilovehim,butit’sgreatwhenhe’sasleep,”hemurmursagainstmy
lips.
“Icouldn’tagreewithyoumore.”
Hegazesdownatme,eyessoft.“Icanhardlybelievehe’sbeenwithusfor
twoyears.”
“Iknow.”Ikisshim,andforamoment,I’mtransportedbacktoTeddy’sbirth:
theemergencycaesarian,Christian’scripplinganxiety,Dr.Greene’sno-
nonsensecalmwhenmyLittleBlipwasindistress.Ishudderinwardlyatthe
memory.
~o0o~
“Mrs.Grey,you’vebeeninlaborforfifteenhoursnow.Yourcontractions
haveslowedinspiteofthePitocin.WeneedtodoaCsection—thebabyisin
distress.”Dr.Greeneisadamant.
“Aboutfuckingtime!”Christiangrowlsather.Dr.Greeneignoreshim.
“Christian,quiet.”Isqueezehishand.Myvoiceislowandweakand
everythingisfuzzy—thewalls,themachines,thegreen-gownedpeople…I
justwanttogotosleep.ButIhavesomethingimportanttodofirst…Ohyes.
“Iwantedtopushhimoutmyself.”
“Mrs.Grey,please.C-section.”
“Please,Ana,”Christianpleads.
“CanIsleepthen?”
“Yes,baby,yes.”It’salmostasob,andChristiankissesmyforehead.
“IwanttoseetheLil’Blip.”
“Youwill.”
“Okay,”Iwhisper.
“Finally,”Dr.Greenemutters.“Nurse,pagetheanesthesiologist.Dr.Miller,
prepforaC-section.Mrs.Grey,wearegoingtomoveyoutotheOR.”
“Move?”ChristianandIspeakatonce.
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“Yes.Now.”
Andsuddenlywe’removing…quickly,thelightsontheceilingblurringinto
onelongbrightstripasI’mwhiskedacrossthecorridor.
“Mr.Grey,you’llneedtochangeintoscrubs.”
“What?”
“Now,Mr.Grey.”
Hesqueezesmyhandandreleasesme.
“Christian,”Icall,panicsettingin.
Wearethroughanothersetofdoors,andinnotimeanurseissettingupa
screenacrossmychest…Thedooropensandcloses,andthere’ssomany
peopleintheroom.It’ssoloud…Iwanttogohome.
“Christian?”Isearchthefacesintheroomformyhusband.
“He’llbewithyouinamoment,Mrs.Grey.”
Amomentlater,he’sbesideme,inbluescrubs.Ireachforhishand.
“I’mfrightened,”Iwhisper.
“No,baby,no.I’mhere.Don’tbefrightened.NotmystrongAna.”
Hekissesmyforehead,andIcantellbythetoneofhisvoicethatsomething’s
wrong.
“Whatisit?”
“What?”
“What’swrong?”
“Nothing’swrong.Everything’sfine.Baby,you’rejustexhausted.”
Hiseyesburnwithfear.
“Mrs.Grey,theanesthesiologistishere.He’sgoingtoadjustyourepidural
andthenwecanproceed.”
“She’shavinganothercontraction.”
Everythingtightenslikeasteelbandaroundmybelly.Shit!IcrushChristian’s
handasIrideitout.Thisiswhat’stiring—enduringthispain.Iamsotired.I
canfeelthenumbingliquidspread…spreaddown.Iconcentrateon
Christian’sface.Onthefurrowbetweenhisbrows.He’stense.He’sworried.
Whyisheworried?
“Canyoufeelthis,Mrs.Grey?”Dr.Greene’sdisembodiedvoiceiscoming
frombehindthecurtain.
“Feelwhat?”
“Youcan’tfeelit.”
“No.”
“Good.Dr.Miller,let’sgo.”
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FiftyShadesFreed
“You’redoingwell,Ana.”
Christianispale.Thereissweatonhisbrow.He’sscared.Don’tbescared,
Christian.Don’tbescared.
“Iloveyou,”Iwhisper.
“OhAna,”hesobs.“Iloveyou,too,somuch.”
Ifeelastrangepullingdeepinside.LikenothingI’vefeltbefore.Christian
looksoverthescreenandblanches,butstares,fascinated.
“What’shappening?”
“Suction!Good…”
Suddenly,there’sapiercingangrycry.
“Youhaveaboy,Mrs.Grey.CheckhisApgar.”
“Apgarisnine.”
“CanIseehim?”Igasp.
Christiandisappearsfromviewforasecondandreappearsamomentlater,
holdingmyson,swathedinblue.Hisfaceispink,andcoveredinwhitemush
andblood.Mybaby.MyBlip…TheodoreRaymondGrey.
WhenIglanceatChristian,hehastearsinhiseyes.
“Here’syourson,Mrs.Grey,”hewhispers,hisvoicestrainedandhoarse.
“Ourson,”Ibreathe.“He’sbeautiful.”
“Heis,”Christiansaysandplantsakissonourbeautifulboy’sforehead
beneathashockofdarkhair.TheodoreRaymondGreyisoblivious.Eyes
closed,hisearliercryingforgotten,he’sasleep.Heisthemostbeautifulsight
Ihaveeverseen.Sobeautiful,Ibegintoweep.
“Thankyou,Ana,”Christianwhispers,andtherearetearsinhiseyestoo.
“Whatisit?”Christiantiltsmychinback.
“IwasjustrememberingTed’sbirth.”
Christianblanchesandcupsmybelly.
“Iamnotgoingthroughthatagain.Electivecaesarianthistime.”
“Christian,I—”
“No,Ana.Younearlyfuckingdiedlasttime.No.”
“Ididnotnearlydie.”
“No.”He’semphaticandnottobearguedwith,butashegazes506|Page
ELJAMES
downatme,hiseyessoften.“IlikethenamePhoebe,”hewhispers,andruns
hisnosedownmine.
“PhoebeGrey?Phoebe…Yes.Ilikethat,too.”Igrinupathim.
“Good.IwanttosetupTed’spresent.”Hetakesmyhand,andwehead
downstairs.Hisexcitementradiatesoffhim;Christianhasbeenwaitingfor
thismomentallday.
“Doyouthinkhe’lllikeit?”Hisapprehensivegazemeetsmine.
“He’llloveit.Forabouttwominutes.Christian,he’sonlytwo.”
ChristianhasfinishedsettingupthewoodentrainsetheboughtTeddyforhis
birthday.He’shadBarneyattheofficeconverttwoofthelittleenginestorun
onsolarpowerlikethehelicopterIgaveChristianafewyearsago.Christian
seemsanxiousforthesuntorise.Isuspectthat’sbecausehewantstoplay
withthetrainsethimself.Thelayoutcoversmostofthestonefloorofour
outdoorroom.TomorrowwewillhaveafamilypartyforTed.RayandJosé
willbecomingandalltheGrey’s,includingTed’snewcousinAva,Kateand
Elliot’stwo-month-olddaughter.IlookforwardtocatchingupwithKateand
seeinghowmotherhoodisagreeingwithher.Igazeupattheviewasthesun
sinksbehindtheOlympicPeninsula.It’severythingChristianpromisedit
wouldbe,andIgetthesamejoyfulthrillseeingitnowasIdidthefirsttime.
It’ssimplystunning:twilightovertheSound.Christianpullsmeintohis
arms.
“It’squiteaview.”
“Itis,”Christiananswers,andwhenIturntolookathim,he’sgazingdownat
me.Heleansdownandplantsasoftkissonmylips.
“It’sabeautifulview,”hemurmurs.“Myfavorite.”
“It’shome.”
Hegrinsandkissesmeagain.“Iloveyou,Mrs.Grey.”
“Iloveyou,too,Christian.Always.”
TheEnd
507|Page
DocumentOutline
ARC_Page
Book_Cover
Title_Page
Copyright_Page
About_the_Author
Prologue
Chapter_One
Chapter_Two
Chapter_Three
Chapter_Four
Chapter_Five
Chapter_Six
Chapter_Seven
Chapter_Eight
Chapter_Nine
Chapter_Ten
Chapter_Eleven
Chapter_Twelve
Chapter_Thirteen
Chapter_Fourteen
Chapter_Fifteen
Chapter_Sixteen
Chapter_Seventeen
Chapter_Eighteen
Chapter_Nineteen
Chapter_Twenty
Chapter_Twenty_One
Chapter_Twenty_Two
Chapter_Twenty_Three
Chapter_Twenty_Four
Chapter_Twenty_Five
Epilogue